


Remember Tomorrow

by Clowns_or_Midgets, Jadeys_World



Series: For Your Life [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring Bobby Singer, Caring Mary Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Secrets, Ghost Cameo, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester's Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-01-13 22:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 75,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21236864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clowns_or_Midgets/pseuds/Clowns_or_Midgets, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadeys_World/pseuds/Jadeys_World
Summary: After Jessica's death, Sam was locked in a place of no emotion. With the vision of Brady's death, he broke free and is now feeling too much. Scared of his gift and the grief that still lurks beneath the surface, Sam is going to need help from his family and their friends to help him. And Mary is keeping a secret which could tear them all apart.Part Two of The For Your Life VerseBeta'd by Ktoon and ShadowhuntingdauntlessdemigodPre-read by VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Part Two of For Your Life. It means a lot to me that you're still reading. 
> 
> Ktoon did a great job beta'ing this for me, and Ncsupnatfan and VegasGranny were amazing pre-readers that made the editing experience a joy.

Since joining the hunting life fulltime, Dean had been coming back to Lawrence at least three times a year. Mary needed to check in on the garage, and they sometimes needed something from Missouri. No matter how many times he made the trip, he never got more comfortable being there. Going to the garage wasn't too bad, really, since it now looked very different from the place John had worked. All the technical upgrades and expansion, done to allow increased work space, made it nearly unrecognizable. The hardest part of returning was passing by their old house, which always gave him an eerie feeling.

The house had been rebuilt after the fire, and the design was almost exactly the same as it had been when Dean lived there. They’d even left the dead tree in the yard that freaked Dean out as a child. It made him uncomfortable. He could tell Mary felt the same way. When they drove past it, her fingers would tighten around the steering wheel and she would speed up the car slightly to make passing it faster.

He wasn’t sure what to expect when he drove past it with Sam, but when Dean reached the street and pressed down on the accelerator slightly, Sam sat up straighter in the seat and looked out of the window. When they reached the house, he asked, “Is that it? The one with the tree?”

“Yeah,” Dean said with a sigh. “That’s it.”

“It’s empty.”

“It usually is. No one ever seems to stay there long.”

There was something about the house that people didn’t like. Dean didn’t want to know what it was. He wasn’t a coward, but there wasn’t much he would rather do less than go back inside that place.

Sam nodded and sat back in his seat. “Okay.”

Though the word was neutral, the tension in his eyes was not. Dean supposed that seeing where he was born and raised to six months—where his father had died—for the first time was a difficult experience for him, especially when he was already struggling.

When they’d left home, the day after Dean had gotten back from California and after Mary had made arrangements to come to see Missouri, Sam had chosen to ride in the Impala with Dean instead of the Jeep with Mary. Dean had hoped it meant Sam wanted to talk, that he was going to open up about how he was feeling now that he was actually feeling _something_, but the journey had mostly gone without words, the only noises being the AC/DC album playing, the engine rumbling, and the sounds of other traffic.

Dean wasn’t sure what it was he wanted from Sam, really, other than the fact he didn’t want him hurting. He wanted to help, but he didn’t know whether that meant him opening up, talking about what he felt, or whether he should work through it on his own. Whichever would work better for Sam, to heal him, would help.

He hoped Missouri would have some answers for them. Sam didn’t want these dreams, and Bobby and Mary said he couldn’t make them stop, but perhaps Missouri knew something they didn’t. She was the psychic. If anyone could help Sam, it had to be her. It was hard for Dean to accept that, as he wanted to be the one with the answers for Sam himself, but he had to give over his trust to their friend to do it for him.

In any other circumstance, it would have been funny to introduce Sam to Missouri. She was a unique character, and Dean remembered his own shock the first time he’d met her. But this wasn’t the right time for amusement in Sam’s discomfort. He was already dealing with too much—they all were. Sam needed to have peace and calm, not Missouri’s brand of humor.

They were there for help.

Dean could see now just how real Sam’s dreams were. He had been in that party, hearing the exact song Sam had told him about and Brady’s exact pose when that woman had run at him with her knife. He knew just how it would have ended if he hadn’t been there, and Sam had _seen_ that.

These dreams weren’t a power he could tap into to help himself. They were pain and suffering, and not just physically. It had been Brady’s death that Sam had seen, his friends, someone he cared about. It had been enough to break the hold that was keeping Sam from feeling his emotions, and it had left pain in its wake. What if he had another that broke the hold on his emotions further, making him feel Jessica’s death? Dean was scared of that kind of pain making itself known.

They reached Missouri’s street, and Mary pulled the Jeep to a stop outside. Dean pulled up behind her and cut the engine.

“You ready for this, Sammy?” he asked.

Sam shrugged. “I guess.”

Dean grappled for something reassuring to say, but came up empty. He patted Sam’s arm then climbed out of the car, circling around to the sidewalk to see Missouri’s door open and the woman hurrying down the path to them. She greeted Mary with a hug and then came to Dean.

“Just once, I would like a visit from you that’s just a social call,” she said, gripping his shoulders and looking up into his face.

“Next time, I promise,” Dean said, smiling warmly at her.

She nodded. “I’m going to hold you to that promise, Dean. Well, you best come in. I’ve made you a strawberry-rhubarb pie.”

Dean grinned in spite of the tension he was feeling. Missouri was the best baker he knew. Her pies were legendary.

Missouri looked past him and said, “And this is Sam?”

Dean turned back and saw that Sam was still sitting in the car. Dean didn’t want to force Sam to do anything, but he knew they were there for help so he opened the door and said, “Come meet Missouri.”

Sam unfolded his legs from the seat and straightened up. “Hello,” he said politely.

“Sam Winchester,” Missouri said with a wide smile. “I haven’t seen you since you were a baby. You certainly grew.” She made a point of looking up at him, and Sam smiled slightly.

Dean was gratified by the smile. He wasn’t sure if it was a sign of genuine pleasure or just Sam being polite again, but it was something worth taking a moment to appreciate.

She held out a hand to Sam and he shook it. She cupped it and then her eyes widened and she dropped it as if it had suddenly burned hot.

She quickly covered her reaction with a small laugh and said, “Static shock. Sorry about that. It must be my sweater.”

Sam nodded, but Dean could tell he wasn’t convinced. He wasn’t either. Missouri had been reacting to the touch. What had she seen or felt in Sam that made her look like that? Dean had never seen her do it before.

“Come on in,” she said. “The coffee is on, and I just know Dean is waiting to get his hands on some pie. It’s strawberry-rhubarb. Does that sound good?”

Without waiting for an answer, she bustled up the path and into the house. Dean followed her in, wiping his feet on the coarse doormat.

“You go take a seat,” Missouri called over her shoulder as she went into the kitchen. “Your mom is already in there. Dean, you can help me with the coffee.”

Dean went into the kitchen and watched as she laid out cups and saucers on a tray, pouring coffee into each.

“Don’t just stand there,” she said. “Get the cream and fill the pitcher.”

Dean retrieved the carton from the fridge and filled the small white pitcher she handed him. She took the pie from where it had been cooling on the windowsill and a knife from a drawer, then said, “Plates, Dean.”

Dean got the plates, then stopped her with a hand on her arm as she started to turn. “What happened when you touched Sam?” he asked.

“Not yet,” she said. “I know you’re scared, I can feel it, but we need to take this slow. You’re here now, and I can help.”

Dean always forgot, in the time between visits, how it felt to have his mind read. He should be used to it after so long, but it never failed to unsettle him. He knew Missouri never shared what she heard with anyone else, but it still felt invasive.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just so easy with you. You’re so open.”

“You need to control it with Sam,” he said, a warning in his voice. “I don’t think he’ll be able to handle it. He’s already got a lot going on—too much.”

She nodded. “I’ll be careful. Now, grab that tray and take it through. Your mom and Sam are going to think we’re gossiping in here.”

Dean picked up the tray and carried it into the living room where Mary and Sam were sitting on the couch. Sam was in the center and Mary was perched close, her hand holding his where it was laid flat on his leg. His free hand was convulsively rubbing his knee, his fingers digging into the denim.

He set the tray down in the center of the coffee table and said, “Cream, Sammy?”

Sam shook his head. “I’m fine.”

Unsurprised, Dean asked his mom and, at her nod, added the sugar and cream, handing it to her. She released Sam and he began to rub his legs nervously, as if his palms were sweaty.

“Who’s for pie?” Missouri asked. “I know you are, Dean. Sam?”

“No thanks,” Sam said quietly.

“I can see you missed breakfast, Mary,” she said. “So you’re having some.”

Sam frowned and nodded, “Oh. Yeah, mind reader. I forgot about that.”

“Don’t worry, Sam,” Missouri said, handing a plated piece of pie and fork to Mary. “I’m a mind reader on hiatus when it comes to you. I promise not to read you at all.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, looking only a little relieved.

Missouri sat down in the armchair and set her plate on her knee. “Eat,” she instructed.

Though he didn’t feel much like eating given the tension in the room and Sam’s disquiet, Dean took a bite and smiled appreciatively at Missouri. “It’s really good.”

She beamed at him. “So, why are you here? You didn’t tell me much on the phone, Mary.”

“We need help,” Mary said. “Something is happening to Sam.”

“What’s happening?”

Sam spoke up before anyone else could answer. “Why did you react like that when you shook my hand? What did you read in my mind?”

“I didn’t read anything,” Missouri said. “Even before I consciously blocked you out, your thoughts were too tangled for me to make sense of. It was what I felt. I was surprised by the intensity. How long have your powers been like that? What’s happening?” Seeing Sam’s discomfort she said, “I can sense gifts in other people, potential and abilities that are already there. You caught me off guard because you were so strong.”

Sam looked away, out of the French doors that led into Missouri’s back porch and tended garden. “I don’t want to be strong.”

“It’s not something you can control,” Missouri said. “What has happened so far?”

“I have dreams,” Sam said, still looking outside. “I saw the same thing over and over for weeks the first time, and then it came true. But this last time it was only once and it would have happened soon after. Dean stopped it before it could happen.” He drew a deep breath and looked at her. “I saw my girlfriend die, and my best friend getting stabbed by a botched mugging. He would have died, too, but Dean saved him.” His eyes became intense and his expression pleading. “Am I making it happen?”

“No, Sam,” Mary said softly. “None of this is your fault.”

Sam ignored her. “Missouri?”

“Your mom is right,” she said. “No one can make things happen like that. It’s not possible. What happened to your girlfriend? How did she die?”

Dean cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Missouri as he allowed his mind to run over everything that had happened since they heard the voicemail from Sam on their way out of the forest in Oregon. It took a long time, as there was so much to show her, and for a while the only sounds were the tick of the clock and the clatter of Mary setting her plate down on the table.

“I see,” Missouri said when Dean had finished showing her the averted attack on Brady. “You’ve certainly been to the wars, Sam.” Seeing his blank look, she said, “Dean has showed me what’s been happening. I don’t have all the answers you need, but I can tell you this: none of it was your fault. You had no reason to believe the dream you had of your girlfriend was going to come true. You did nothing wrong there.”

Sam rubbed a hand roughly over his face. “Can you make it go away? Stop it from happening to me?”

“No,” she said gently. “It’s impossible for a psychic to block their powers. You can learn to control them as I and many others have, but they are a part of you as much as your heart and mind.”

“But if I can control it, why can’t I stop it?” Sam asked.

“Because it would be like holding your breath forever—it’s just not possible. What happens if you hold your breath too long?” she asked.

When Sam gave no sign that he was going to answer, Dean said, “You pass out.”

“Exactly, and if it wasn’t impossible, what would happen if you kept doing it, even when unconscious? If you could stop yourself breathing at all…”

“You would die,” Sam said quietly.

Mary sucked in a breath. “He could die!”

Dean felt sick. This was worse than Sam suffering grief or pain. It was his life.

“If, by some impossible miracle, he could find a way to block them off completely, then yes, he would die. These powers use our minds, bodies and souls to work. They are like air. If you have them, you need them. But Sam _can’t_ block them. He can only fight them, hold his breath, and that is going to hurt him. You need to use them, Sam.”

Sam looked down at his lap.

“How is he supposed to use them?” Dean asked. “They’re dreams.”

“It’s not just dreams that he has though, is it, Sam?”

Dean and Mary both turned to him, waiting for an answer. Dean was feeling betrayed that Sam hadn’t told them everything before. If there was more to it than dreams, they should have known. He thought when Sam told them about the dreams and that he remembered the fire, that it was everything he’d been hiding. He couldn’t help but resent Sam for keeping more from them when their lives had always been built on honesty.

Sam looked confused. “It’s only dreams.”

“Are you sure?” Missouri pressed.

“Yes.” He looked at Mary. “There’s nothing else, I swear.”

“Maybe you’re not even aware of it yet,” Missouri said thoughtfully. “Has anything ever happened that you can’t explain? Anything to you or those around you? It would have started when you were very young.”

Sam shrugged. “I hunted for three years before college, and my family still does it. Loads of strange things happen. But I didn’t _do_ anything.”

“No,” Missouri said slowly. “It might be subtle, so subtle that you aren’t seeing it for what it is. If you were young enough, it might just be what’s normal to you. Have you ever seen it, Mary? Dean?”

“There’s been nothing,” Mary said. “We would have noticed. We’re hunters.”

“Perhaps you have been fighting it all this time,” Missouri said. “I don’t understand why it didn’t make you ill if you were, but I can’t think of any other explanation. The powers have always been there.”

“Where do they come from?” Mary asked, and Dean was surprised to see the intensity in her eyes.

Ever since this whole thing had started, Dean had just assumed they were something that had come out in Sam that was always there. Where could it have come from if not Sam himself? It wasn’t like someone could just give you psychic gifts, could they? Missouri had never mentioned it. If there was a way, there would surely be more psychics. There were plenty of people pretending. If there was a way for them to have real gifts, they would have found it.

Missouri frowned. “They come from Sam. They were there the day he was born. Do you remember the first time I saw him, Mary? When he was a baby.”

Mary nodded. “Yes. I’d taken Dean to Daisy’s for pancakes since he was feeling left out. Everyone was coming to see the baby, bringing him gifts, so John and I tried to make it special for him, too.” She looked at Dean and smiled. “You soon perked up with pancakes.”

Dean smiled slightly. He had vague memories of those days. He remembered most clearly Sam being brought home from the hospital and how his father had explained he was the big brother now and that was a big responsibility. He had to teach Sam so much. He’d been excited until he realized that the actual teaching was going to have to wait a while. In the meantime, he just had this noisy baby in the house that demanded everyone’s attention.

Loving Sam had come later.

“I saw that he was special then,” Missouri explained. “And when you let me hold him, I _felt_ it. He had so much potential.” She looked at Sam. “You still do. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t seen them before. You’re aware of it now, and the others will build from that.”

“Others?” Sam asked, his hands fisting. “More than dreams?”

Missouri’s features formed into a sympathetic smile. “Yes. There will be more, and I will help you deal with them. The dreams are just the start of what you’re capable of.”

Sam hugged his arms around himself and leaned forward. Mary put her arm around his back and rested her head on his shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay, honey,” she said. “Missouri is going to help you. We all are.”

He didn’t even seem to hear her. He was clutching his sides and what Dean could see of his face was desperate. “I don’t _want _this,” he moaned.

“I know,” Mary soothed. “But you can’t fight it. You heard Missouri. It will hurt you, or worse.”

“Then I’ll hurt,” Sam said. “I can handle it.”

“Not this kind of pain, you can’t,” Missouri said. “They’re already hurting, aren’t they, the dreams?”

“Headaches,” Sam said quietly.

Dean didn’t know Sam was in pain. Why hadn’t he told them? He thought back to the dream Sam had of Brady. He _had_ seemed to be in pain after, but Dean hadn’t realized. He thought it was anguish that made him look like that. He had missed the signs.

“That’s because you’re resisting,” Missouri said. “It will only go away when you open yourself to them. This is a natural part of you, Sam.” She softened her voice. “You’re trying to hold your breath.”

Having heard what that meant, it made Dean’s hands fist. Sam _had _to stop fighting.

“I don’t want it,” Sam said again, desperation lacing his words.

Mary eased him upright, and he allowed himself to be moved. She pulled his hands free from his sweatshirt and gripped them. “I don’t want this for you either, honey, but you have it now. It’s who you are. You have to let it happen or we’re going to lose you, and you can’t do that to us. I know you’re scared, and you’ve already been through more than I ever wanted you to go through, but you need to be strong and face this. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for us; for me, Dean and Bobby.” She stroked his cheek. “Please.”

Sam stared into her eyes, his own desperate, and he nodded. “Okay. I’ll do my best.”

Dean breathed a sigh of relief and Mary closed her eyes for a moment, seeming overwhelmed.

“What do I have to do?” Sam asked Missouri.

“Come back here tomorrow. We’ll experiment a little, try to find a way to connect you to what’s there, and then we’ll explore together. I’m going to be here for you every step of the way. I’ll help you. I won’t let you get hurt.”

“What time should we come?” Dean asked.

Missouri’s lips formed a moue of regret. “It needs to be Sam alone. And as early as he can. There’s a lot for us to do.”

“Why can’t we come?” Mary asked.

Dean tried to hide his own reaction, but he was angry that they were going to be kept out of this. He wanted to be there for his brother, to help him through it. He’d known he had to hand over trust to Missouri for help, but to give up _all_ control felt wrong. This was too big for him to step down from.

“It needs to be peaceful and as calm as it can be,” Missouri said apologetically. “And there is too much pressure with you here. Sam is doing this for you, not himself, and if you’re there, watching it, he’s not going to be able to forget that.”

Mary nodded, but Dean could tell she wasn’t happy. He felt a little better after the explanation, as he wanted it to work more than he wanted to be there, but he still wasn’t pleased.

“Go rest now,” Missouri said. “Come back tomorrow any time after eight. I’ll be ready for you. We have until two, but then we’ll need to stop; I have a reading booked in. You’ll be ready to stop by then, though. This is going to be tiring.”

“Okay,” Sam said, getting to his feet.

Dean put down his plate even though he’d barely taken any bites of the pie at all, and said, “Thank you, Missouri.”

Missouri smiled at him. “You’re welcome.”

Mary hugged her, and then they followed Sam outside to where he had stopped on the porch, his unfocused gaze on the Impala.

Dean touched his arm. “You okay, Sammy?”

“Yeah, fine,” Sam said tiredly.

Dean knew he was lying, but he didn’t push for more. Sam was already taking a big hit, agreeing to work on these powers, and he was doing it for them. They had no right to ask him for more.


	2. Chapter 2

Though Sam woke early the next morning, he took his time getting ready to go to Missouri’s and even agreed to go out for breakfast with Dean and Mary before leaving. He had no appetite, but he wanted to delay the time he was going to have to set out alone and start on this path that led he didn’t know where. 

Mary was overly pleased that he was eating, and it made him realize that was something she’d been worried about before. When he’d been shut down, not feeling anything at all, he hadn’t really noticed what they were thinking and worrying about. He’d been trying to keep doing what he knew he had to do to make it through each day when he was numb. He was more aware of them now that he remembered how it felt to love them, now that he _did_ love them, and he saw how he had let them down before.

In some ways, he preferred it when he was numb. He knew it was wrong, that it hadn’t been healthy and it’d hurt the people he cared about, but it had been easier. Now he felt too much, and he was scared of what he still wasn’t feeling.

At some point his grief was going to wake up in him, and he was going to be in hell because of it. It was constantly there—a dark shape behind him, creeping up to crash into him at any moment—and he felt like he was living on borrowed time with every minute that passed without him feeling her loss. As much as he hated knowing he was betraying her by not feeling his grief, he could bear that easier than the knowledge it was coming for him.

When breakfast was eaten and they were walking the short distance back to the motel, Dean patted his shoulder and held out the keys to the Impala. “You want to take Baby?” he asked.

Sam knew it was a gentle reminder that he should be leaving as well as a kind offer, so he took the keys and forced a smile. “Thanks, Dean.”

Mary touched his arm and said, “We’ll be waiting for you when you’re done. You do…” She bit her lip. “Do what you can.”

Sam nodded and sped his pace away from them to the motel parking lot. He unlocked the Impala and climbed in, taking a moment to breathe before putting the key in the ignition and turning over the engine. He raised a hand in farewell to Mary and Dean as he pulled out of the parking lot and they walked into it, and then set out on the road to Missouri’s.

It wasn’t a long drive to her house, he could have walked it easily if he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge Dean’s gesture, but it still seemed over in seconds to him. Soon he was locking the car and walking up the steps to the door. It opened before he knocked, and Missouri was framed on the threshold, smiling and holding out her hands as if she was going to embrace him.

“Good morning, Sam!” she said brightly.

Sam kept his arms at his sides and stopped on the porch, not wanting to initiate a hug. He wasn’t sure he wanted that level of contact with her so soon. He was still not able to relax properly when Mary made one of her usual gestures of affection: her hand on his face or an arm around him. 

Missouri stepped back, untroubled, and gestured him inside. “Go through to the living room,” she said. “I’ve got everything set up.”

Wondering what exactly needed to be ‘set up’ for this, Sam moved along the hall and pushed open the living room door. There was a purple candle burning on the center of the coffee table, filling the room with the scent of lavender, and a bowl with two large crystals in it. One was glossy black with white veins and the other was rust colored and shaped like a conch shell.

Sam hadn’t really thought about what this process was going to entail—in fact, he’d been determinedly not thinking about it—but now he saw it was going to have a dose of woo-woo involved. He supposed it made sense for a psychic to have tools, but it still made him uncomfortable. This was one more step to showing how _different _what he was doing was.

“Take a seat,” Missouri said, bustling in after him.

Sam sat on the couch and tried to look relaxed as his eyes drifted back to the burning candle whose scent was filling his nose.

“If it bothers you, I can blow it out,” Missouri said. 

Sam stiffened. “I thought you weren’t reading my mind.”

“I’m not,” she said easily. “But you’re a very expressive person. I can see you’re already closing off from this, and I guessed it was the difference of the scene we’ll be working with. The candle isn’t necessary. I just thought the lavender would help you relax.”

“The crystals?” Sam asked.

“We will need them, at least at first. They’ll help you center yourself. I know this is hard for you, Sam, but you need to work with me. Psychics like us sometimes need—”

“I’m not psychic,” Sam said quickly. “I just have dreams.”

Missouri’s lips pressed into a thin line and her fingers curled slightly at her sides. Sam thought she was going to argue the point, but the straight line of her shoulders softened and she said, “Psychics like _me_ need the tools. Now, are you ready to start?”

“Yes.”

She took the crystals from the bowl and held them out to him. “This is black tourmaline, and this carnelian. Hold one in each hand, it doesn’t matter which, and just get used to the feel of them for a moment.”

Sam took them and held them as she took a seat opposite him and smoothed her skirt on her lap. They felt cool in his hands and heavier that they looked. After only a moment, his fingers tired of trying to grip them and he held them in his lap instead, taking the weight on the palms of his hands.

“They’re heavy, aren’t they?” she asked.

“Yes,” Sam agreed, and then frowned. “Are they getting heavier?”

She looked satisfied. “They are for you. Only someone with our abilities would feel it. You’re connecting to them. They’re both connected to spiritual awareness, and your…” She shook her head. “The thing that makes you have those dreams is finding their power.”

Sam’s hands twitched, and he was on the verge of putting them back in the bowl, distancing himself from them. He held back the impulse, reminding himself that he had come to her for a reason, and if this was what he had to do, allow whatever it was in him that made him different to connect with the crystals, it was what he had to do. This wasn’t about what he wanted or needed. It was about his family’s need. He had to do it for them. 

“We’re going to try meditation,” Missouri said.

“Don’t you have to spend years learning that?” Sam asked. He wasn’t sure how much time he would be able to bear dedicating himself to this task.

“No, you can learn it in an afternoon. At least you can the basics. We’re not aiming to reach a Zen-like mindset. We just need you to relax and open yourself up. If it makes it easier, think of it as just a relaxation technique that I’m showing you. Make yourself comfortable and close your eyes.”

Sam adjusted himself so he was sitting back against the couch cushions and stretched his legs in front of him. He was physically more comfortable on the surface, but mentally he felt vulnerable and his heart was beating jarringly fast. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, but that seemed to make it worse.

“Take a deep breath, Sam,” Missouri counselled. “In through the nose and out through the mouth.” When Sam obeyed, she said, “That’s good. Keep going. Find a comfortable rhythm and allow it become natural instead of forced.”

Sam tried to do as she asked, and his breaths did come easier and in a pattern, but it didn’t manage to calm his heart completely.

“What do you hear, Sam?” she asked, her voice gentle.

Sam tried to ignore his pulse in his ears and allowed his senses to reach out further. As other things occurred to him, he listed them. “I can hear the clock ticking, and there are voices outside. People are arguing.”

“That’s the Petersons,” she said. “Try to ignore them and focus on the clock. Let that fill your ears.”

It was hard to ignore the voices that were louder and more agitating than the clock, but Sam tried. His heart seemed the loudest thing at first, and then it began to slow. It beat at a different timing on the ticks on the clock, but it was balanced, calmer. Sam thought he was doing it right. It slowed gradually until it beat in contrast to the tick of the clock. _Tick-beat. Tick-beat._

“That’s good,” Missouri said. “Your heart is calming now.”

How did she know? The question brought Sam out of the slow state of being he’d been in and his eyes opened. “How do you know?”

He expected her to look disappointed that he wasn’t following her instructions now, but she merely smiled. “I’m not reading your mind, and I can’t actually hear your heartbeat, but I can see its agitation in your aura, and I saw it calm. It’s faster now, isn’t it?”

Sam nodded. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. This is hard, even for someone that’s not in your situation. We’re not going to get it in a morning. We’re building you up to it.”

“But it’s going to help me?” Sam asked. “It will stop me fighting whatever it is?”

“Yes, and when that happens, it will get even easier. Your mind and powers are fighting a battle at the moment. The powers are much stronger than your mind, which means your mind has to fight so much harder to keep them at bay.”

“And if I stop fighting, these _powers _are going to show themselves more?”

As hard as he tried, he couldn’t keep the trepidation from his voice. He didn’t want powers. He didn’t want them stronger or showing themselves. He just wanted to do enough that he wasn’t fighting, so that Missouri could tell Mary and Dean that he wasn’t holding his breath anymore—that he wasn’t hurting himself.

“In time they will, but that’s not the purpose of today. We just need you to learn to calm yourself and begin to stop the fight. It’s not going to be a fast process.” She sat up straighter in her chair and pressed her hands together. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes…” Sam said, his shoulders stiffening slightly as he prepared for the question.

“Why don’t you want this? You know you have it now, it’s not something you can ignore or make go away, so what’s the fight against? What scares you?”

Sam felt his muscles clench and a stab of pain in his still healing back. “A lot of hunters don’t like psychics,” he said quietly. That wasn’t the only reason, but it was one of them he felt safe admitting.

“They don’t,” she agreed. “But no one needs to know you are one.”

“I’m not—” Sam started, but she held up a hand.

“Whatever you want to call it is fine, but it means the same thing. You’re worried about what other people will think of you?”

“Yes.”

“And how many hunters do you see on a regular basis?”

Sam was about say there were a lot, but it wasn’t true. Other than Bobby, Bill, and Jim Murphy, he hadn’t seen another hunter in a long time. The last was the peripheral seeing that he’d done when he visited Ellen, Bill and Jo at The Roadhouse over his summer break, and he hadn’t spoken to any of them. He didn’t have a hunter’s life. Mary, Dean and Bobby did, but Sam hadn’t even been close to that since he was eighteen and taking hunts himself. He wasn’t risking friendships or even real acquaintances if anyone found out about his dreams, as the people in that life that he really knew had no problem with psychics.

That wasn’t the real problem.

“None, really,” he admitted.

“Then what is it?”

Sam set the crystals down on his lap and rubbed his temples, trying to ignore the way his chest ached.

Since the fire, things had been different between him and his family. That was natural. He had nearly died and the woman he loved _had _died. Even though he couldn’t feel it, it didn’t mean they couldn’t. They’d had a relationship with her, too, even though it was peripheral, and the fact Sam had lived and she had died had to confuse how they felt about it. They probably felt some level of the same guilt he felt himself. But it was when he told them about his dreams that things changed. They looked at him differently, as if there was something wrong with him.

His mother had said she needed him to work with Missouri, to stop fighting the powers Missouri said he had, but was that because she wanted him to or just because she was scared of the alternative? If he managed to defy the rules and block them forever, it would kill him, and whatever else she felt, Mary loved him and wouldn’t want that.

He didn’t want to be psychic for himself, he didn’t want to be different or to have some kind of responsibility, but more than that, he didn’t want to lose what he had with his family. He loved them. He needed them, and was going to need them even more when his withheld grief finally broke through whatever dam was holding it back. They were already different after two dreams. How would they be if he had more? Would they have to distance themselves from him?

He didn’t think he could bear it.

“Sam?” Missouri prompted.

“I’m ready to try again,” he said, falling back against the cushions again and closing his eyes.

He heard her heavy sigh and then she said, “Okay. Concentrate on your breaths again. Make them deep and slow, nice and calm, and then tell me what you can feel.”

Sam gave himself time to regulate his breaths and to try to calm his heart before focusing on the rest of his body, assessing what he felt.

“My back hurts,” he said.

“That’s just pain. What else? Dig deeper.”

Sam tried to obey, focusing his mind on the weight of the crystals in his hands. “My breaths,” Sam said. “I can feel my lungs moving.”

They still felt a little constricted after the pneumonia. It was better than it had been immediately after he’d woken in the hospital, there was no congestion now, but it felt like they’d shrunk and he couldn’t breathe as deep as he used to be able to when he was running track on weekends with Jessica. They had spent many mornings together at the arena with their friends, running and encouraging each other. Jessica had been faster than him, as she was more practiced. She’d run for the cross-country team in high school, but she never let him be left behind. She’d been kind.

He felt something new: warm wetness on his cheeks. His eyes snapped open and he wiped his face, smearing the tears.

“What’s this?” he asked, his tone accusing. “What are you doing to me?”

Missouri looked confused. “I’m doing nothing. What were you thinking about? Were you in pain?”

“Yes,” Sam answered automatically, recognizing the ache in his chest and the way his hands stung with pins and needles from how tightly he gripped the crystals. He released them and his arms came to hug around his chest instead.

“What were you thinking?” she pressed. “Where did the pain come from?”

“I was…” Sam was suddenly scared of what was happening to him. “I was thinking about Jess.” His voice constricted. “Is this it? Am I going to feel it now?”

“You might,” she said quietly.

“I don’t want to! You can’t make me!”

“I can’t make you do anything, Sam,” she soothed. “No one can. But you might be feeling it anyway. We were focusing on relaxing your mind. Perhaps your powers aren’t the only thing being fought. You could be fighting grief subconsciously.”

“Then I want to keep fighting it,” Sam said desperately. “I don’t want to feel it.” When she looked confused, he went on, impassioned. “You don’t understand. I loved Jess more than anything, and if I have to feel it, it’s going to break me. I won’t be able to do anything at all like that.”

“I do understand,” she said gently, her lips downturned and her eyes distant. “I lost my husband many years ago. I felt grief, too, and it took me a long time to learn to live with it. I had to, though. I had my son to think about. You have to think of your family.”

“But I can’t!” Sam said, his voice strangled.

She stood and came to sit beside him on the couch, placing a hand on his arm and rubbing soothing circles. “I can’t stop you feeling that pain, and I don’t think even you can stop it forever. Perhaps it is better now that you allow yourself to feel it, to think of her and set it free, while you can control it. You’re already fighting a war on one front against your powers. Fighting against the grief, too, is going to hurt you more than feeling it can.”

Sam shook his head and wiped at his face. “No. I can’t. If feeling it is what it takes to make these powers work, I’m not going to try to make them. I won’t.”

“And your family? What do they need you to do?”

“I’m not giving up,” Sam said. “I’ll keep working with you, but I’m not feeling _that_. We’ll find another way. You will find another way.”

Missouri sighed heavily. “It’s going to be harder for you. It will slow us down so much. It could take too long.”

“I don’t care,” Sam said, his hands fisting. “I’ll work harder. I’ll do it for longer. Whatever it takes so I don’t have to feel it, I’ll do.” He looked into her deep brown eyes. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes. I can. But I think it’s a mistake. I will help you, though.”

“Good,” Sam said, forcing his hands to relax. “Tell me what I have to do.”

Missouri considered for a moment and then said, “Rest now. We can’t do anything while you’re like this. Rest now and we’ll start again tomorrow. I need time to think of how we’re going to handle it.”

Sam got to his feet and made for the door. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Sam,” she called after him, and then went on when he turned to face her, “this is going to be dangerous. You _will _feel it eventually.”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe not. I could be the one that beats the odds. If I can block these powers most of my life without even knowing I’m doing it, I can sure as hell block this.”

Missouri nodded and Sam saw the defeat in her eyes before she cast them down to her lap.

She knew he was right, Sam could tell. She might be the one that knew about psychics and powers, but she didn’t know him. Sam could unlock his powers while still locking away his grief. He had to.

He couldn’t let himself feel that, not if there was a way to stop it.


	3. Chapter 3

Mary smiled encouragingly as Dean recited the Latin with his eyes squeezed shut and brows pinched together.

_“T__e rogamus, audi nos.”_ His eyes opened and his brows lifted together. “Well?”

Mary beamed at him, her eyes dancing with glee at his triumph. “That was _perfect_!”

Dean’s shoulders relaxed and he blew out a breath. “Finally.”

Mary put her arms around him and squeezed. “Even your pronunciations are getting better. They don’t matter as much as long as the words are right, but it makes it easier to find your flow if you can get a lock on them.” She released him and looked into his satisfied eyes. “You’ve done so well.”

She felt good that she could encourage her son for his achievement. He had been working hard ever since they’d begun training them to deal with demons, trying to learn to recite the exorcism from memory, and he’d finally gotten it. It had clearly been hard for him as, even with his stellar work ethic, he wasn’t as academically-minded as Sam, and had no previous experience with Latin. Sam had taken it as an elective in college. She hadn’t understood it at the time, but since Dean admitted that Sam had sneaked peeks at Bobby’s journal when he wasn’t around, she knew he’d seen enough of an exorcism to know the knowledge would come in useful one day.

Dean grinned, but then his shoulders slumped as he said, “There’s still the other one to learn.”

“No,” Mary said, patting his hand. “No one expects you to memorize the Rituale Romanum. I don’t even know that one by heart. I’m not even sure Bobby does. You only ever use the quick and dirty on the kinds of demons he faces regularly.”

“Sam’s getting it,” Dean pointed out.

“Sam needed a distraction before. I don’t think he’ll be as committed to learning it now. It’s not like he’s gunning for the demon.”

That still seemed strange to her, especially now that he had tapped into some of his emotions again. She thought anger was going to be something he felt, a need for revenge for Jessica and John, but he hadn’t mentioned it to any of them. She preferred it that way. She didn’t want him putting himself in danger, searching for the demon they suspected of hunting him, too, but his disinterest in revenge was still unexpected.

“He’s already got enough to go do without working on Latin,” Dean said with a sigh. “I think whatever Missouri is going to be doing with him is hard enough.”

Mary nodded. She was worried about Sam, too. He had obviously been reluctant to leave that morning, but he had gone. She wasn’t fooling herself into believing he actually wanted to do it. They all knew he was doing it for them. He wasn’t suicidal, she was sure, but something about working with these dreams instead of working to stop them scared him. She wished she knew what it was. Maybe then she could help him somehow.

Dean snapped the book he was reading from closed and said, “What next?”

“More reading,” Mary said. “I’ll be right back.” 

She picked up the keys to the Jeep from the table and went outside, propping the door open behind her. She unlocked the Jeep and took one of the boxes from the back seat. She set it down so she could lock up and then carried it into her room where Dean was waiting, an eyebrow lifted.

“That’s a lot of reading.”

“And this isn’t even all of it,” she said. “I have more in a storage unit in Omaha.”

Mary kicked the door shut and set the box down on the bed. She took two books out and handed one to Dean, then patted the cover of her own. “This is your inheritance from your Campbell side. They’re journals. We’re looking for any mention of the Colt. Bobby is doing the same with the ones he’s got.”

Dean turned to the front page and frowned. “Who was Phillip Spier’s esquire?”

Mary took the book and turned to the last page with ink on it. “He was a hunter that stopped writing in 1903. The pages weren’t finished, so I guess he died.” She handed it back to him.

“How did you get this?” Dean asked, turning the book in his hands. “I thought Bobby was the one that got all the journals when hunters died.”

“He only started getting them after Bennet died in ’93. Before that he got them, and before that my father did. This is his collection—well, some of it. He had all the family journals, and at some point, when I was a kid, he started getting the others, too.” She smiled slightly. “I don’t really know how, as your grandfather wasn’t known for being a caring-sharing man. In fact, he didn’t trust any other hunters at all. I barely met any until after your father died. He got them though, and they soon mounted up.”

“And there were a lot of hunters in the family?” Dean asked.

Mary frowned. “Haven’t I told you about this?”

Dean shook his head. “You don’t really talk about your parents at all. You’ve just said they were hunters, too, and they raised you in the life.”

“I guess I didn’t want to talk about them much,” Mary said thoughtfully. “Their deaths were hard to take. I was young.”

She knew that wasn’t all, though she’d never told anyone else. Her parents’ murders at the hands of the demon had been intrinsically linked with her deal and John’s death. She didn’t want them to know that the night John died wasn’t the first time she’d seen the demon with yellow eyes.

She smiled for her son. “You have ancestors hunting as far back as we know. We have a journal back at Bobby’s that ended in 1630. It was from one of the pilgrims.”

“Like Mayflower pilgrims?” Dean asked, eyes wide.

“Exactly like that,” Mary said. “Your Grandfather liked to say Elias Campbell was the first Englishman to kill a vampire in the New World.”

Dean whistled. “Wow. You should tell Sammy this.”

“I will,” Mary said.

She wished she had before. He would have gotten a kick out of the knowledge when he was dressed as a pilgrim for his fifth grade Thanksgiving play. It was the kind of detail he could have connected to rather than the fear of monsters he’d had in those days.

Dean’s lips curled into a smile. “It’ll give him something else to think about.”

Mary nodded. She knew Dean was just as frustrated by the fact they couldn’t help Sam as she was. They’d both thought they would be a part of Sam’s ‘training’ or whatever it was Missouri was going to do with him. Instead, they were killing time in the motel while he and Missouri were alone.

It wasn’t a matter of trust. Mary knew Missouri would guide her son and comfort him when he needed it just as well as either of them would, but she still felt she should be there. This was a huge step for Sam, and she’d always been able to be with him before. Every step, from his first day of kindergarten to moving into his college dorm, from his first worried questions about the supernatural world he’d just discovered to his first hunt, she had been there. This was perhaps bigger than all of those things, and she couldn’t help him.

“He’s doing better,” Dean said, apparently seeing her worry and correctly interpreting it. “He’s feeling.”

“Not the worst of it, though. He’s still not feeling Jessica’s loss.”

“I know.” Dean sighed. “I don’t want him to, as I don’t want him to hurt, but I think the fear of it might be worse for all of us—Sam included. What’s going to happen when he does? What do we do for him?”

“I don’t know,” Mary said. “I guess we just wait and help him as much as he’ll let us.”

Dean nodded and turned his book to the first page. “So, we’re looking for anything about the Colt?” he asked, and Mary knew he needed to change the subject to distract himself from his worries.

“Yes. The Colt by name, anything about a special gun; I’ve seen it called just ‘The Gun’ in a journal before. Let me know if you find anything and we’ll mark it down. Something that powerful has to leave a trail behind it. We just need to find it.”

“Okay,” Dean said, adjusting himself so he was more comfortable in the hard chair and opening the book.

Mary took one for herself from the box and checked the front. It belonged to her great-grandfather, and the final date was at the end of the 1900’s. She knew there were more of his in there as he’d done a lot of hunting in his time and had accumulated a lot of knowledge. She hoped some of that knowledge would be of the Colt.

They had been reading only five minutes when Dean looked up suddenly and said, “Sam’s back.”

Mary frowned. “Already?”

When she concentrated, though, she heard the Impala’s engine. It came to a stop and she peered out of the window to see him climbing out and locking the door. She went to open the door for him and held back a gasp as she got a better look at him. He looked wrecked. His eyes were red and there were streaks of dried tears on his face. His shoulders were slumped and his head lowered.

“What happened, honey?” she asked.

Sam didn’t answer. He walked past her into the room and sat down on the chair she’d vacated.

Dean looked as worried as Mary felt. “Sammy, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sam said, the dull note to his voice belying his words.

“Did something happen?” Mary asked, clicking the door closed and moving to his side. She touched his shoulder and felt the muscles bunch at the contact. She quickly moved her hand to her side and went to sit on the edge of the bed to give him space.

Dean was leaning toward him, his hand extended flat on the table as if knowing Sam wouldn’t want to be touched, but unable to not reach out to him.

“I thought you’d be gone longer,” she said. “Did something happen? Did it work?”

“No. Yes.” Sam shrugged. “It worked too well.”

Mary gasped. “You had another dream?”

“No, I didn’t sleep. I…” He shook his head briskly. “I’m going back tomorrow. Missouri said I should rest now.”

His words were a clear end to the conversation, and Mary knew he needed to shield himself.

“Then go lie down,” Dean encouraged. “I’ll stay in here. You can have our room.”

Mary suspected he was less concerned with his brother getting rest and more eager to talk to her about what they were seeing. There was no sign Sam was going to open up to them now, not as he once would, but Dean needed to vocalize his worry. 

Sam got to his feet and walked to the door, moving a little stiffly as if he was in pain.

“Shall we wake you for lunch?” Mary asked.

“No, I’ll eat at dinner,” Sam said tiredly.

“We’ll go somewhere nice,” Mary promised.

Her words seemed to have no effect on Sam, definitely not to cheer him as she’d hoped. He left the room and let the door swing closed behind him. 

Mary began to pace. She made a dozen passes up and down the room before Dean caught her arm and said, “Stop!” firmly.

Mary touched his face, pleased one of her sons would allow the contact, and apologized.

“What was that?” he asked.

Surely he knew she was as at a loss as he was, but she was the one he always came to with questions like this, when he needed reassurance.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“He’s been crying. Do you think whatever Missouri did hurt him?”

“No, I think we’d know if it was physical pain. Something else happened. I’m going to find out what.” She picked up her keys and walked to the door.

“I’m coming with you,” Dean said, his arms crossed over his chest as if he was already preparing himself for a fight.

“One of us needs to stay with Sam,” she reasoned. “He might need us. What if he does see something?”

Dean bit his lip. “You think he will?”

“If whatever Missouri did with him has opened his mind somehow, he could. I’ve got my cell. Call if anything happens.”

Dean sighed. “Sure. Okay. But you’ll tell me what she says?”

Mary nodded. “Of course.”

She would. Dean needed to know as much as her if it was something about Sam. If he was going to open up to either of them, she figured it would be Dean. He was the one Sam had spoken to at the funeral. By all logic, it should be her as, most of the time, he and Sam had the typical brothers’ relationship with much teasing and the usual tension, but there was something else between them that Mary had never been able to join. They had their own way of communicating.

Perhaps it was a product of the fact they’d both found out the truth of the world together so young. The fear they’d both experienced in that initial moment, Sam’s lasting years longer than Dean’s, had forged something between them. As far as Mary knew, they had never lied to each other. Though it had been—and still is—to protect them, and with almost everything else Mary and Bobby had been honest and open with them about, they knew she was capable of hiding something from them.

She didn’t regret keeping the truth of the world from them when they were children, and if she’d been able to choose, they wouldn’t have found out until they were much older. She didn’t regret the fact she couldn’t tell them about her deal either, as that would break something between them and her. They would know she wasn’t the good person she pretended to be. They would know she had killed their father.

She kissed Dean’s cheek and said, “I’ll be back soon,” then slipped out of the room. 

xXx

Missouri was opening the front door before Mary had climbed out of the Jeep and locked it.

She walked quickly along the path and past Missouri as she waved a hand to gesture her inside. She stopped in the hall, waiting for Missouri to close the door behind her.

“You knew I was coming?” she asked.

The kettle began to whistle in the kitchen, and as Missouri went in, the sound ceased. “I’m making tea,” she called back. “It will calm you down.”

“I am calm,” Mary said, following her in and coming to a stop in front of the stove, perhaps encroaching on Missouri’s space a little too closely.

Missouri looked down at Mary’s hands and raised an eyebrow. Confused, Mary followed her gaze and saw her hands were clenched into fists so tight that her knuckles were white. She forced them to relax and checked her palms. As she’d suspected, there were crescent indents from where her fingernails had dug into the skin.

She apologized quietly.

“I _was _expecting you,” Missouri said conversationally. “Though I thought it might take a little longer. Did Sam go to rest straight away?”

“Yes.”

She nodded, her lips curving into an approving smile. “That’s good.”

“What happened to him?” Mary asked.

Missouri didn’t answer. She poured water into two mugs and then set the kettle down and asked, “Sugar?”

Exasperated, but knowing Missouri well enough to know that she would say nothing until she was ready, she said, “One, please.”

Missouri added the sugar and a spoon, then handed Mary the mug. “Let’s sit down.”

She carried her own mug into the living room and sat down in the armchair, setting her tea on the table beside her. Mary sat on the couch and put down her mug, then leaned forward. “Please, Missouri, I need to know.” 

Missouri nodded and conversationally said, “Dean showed me everything that happened since you heard that voicemail when he was here yesterday. I know what you’ve all been through. He probably didn’t mean to show me that much, but I saw exactly how he felt about each step of the journey you went on in the hospital and since, and I’m sure it was the same for you, if not worse. You had to stay strong for both of your sons. Dean had the luxury of being comforted when he needed it. And he would accept it.”

Mary nodded stiffly. “It was hell.”

“I’m sure it was. And that’s the problem here. I know what you went through, and I know I help with that a little by answering your questions, but I also have a duty to Sam. He should be able to tell you in his own time.”

Mary laid her hands down flat on her lap so they wouldn’t fist again. “You have to tell me, Missouri. Please.”

Missouri sighed. “I have thought about it since Sam left, knowing you would come soon, and I have had to battle my professionalism and what Sam needs against my friendship with you and what you need. Ultimately it was decided by who I could relate to closest and who had the greatest need. I can relate to you; I am a mother, too, and Sam needs you to know more than he needs privacy.”

Mary’s tight muscles relaxed slightly with the relief that she was going to be told, but her heart remained fast in her chest with trepidation of what she was going to hear.

“James won’t talk to me right now,” Missouri went on. “I told him something I shouldn’t have. I made a mistake, relying too much on my gift, and it hurt him. I don’t know if he’s ever going to forgive me for that. Not telling you what I know would be just as big a mistake, even if only for Sam’s sake. You need to be prepared.”

“What happened to him?” Mary asked, her chest aching with the desperation she felt now. 

Missouri ran a hand over her chest, centering above her heart, and said, “Sam was able to go into a state of relaxation faster than I expected. I thought, seeing what he was like and his grey aura, that it would take hours if not days for him to let go, but he was trying hard. He went in and, though he wasn’t perfectly under, his aura was changing into yellow.”

Mary knew nothing about the color of auras, and she didn’t care much in that moment. She just wanted to know what had happened to her son.

“He couldn’t focus his thoughts as well,” Missouri went on. “They wandered. They took him to his girlfriend.”

Mary’s breath caught. “Jess?”

Was that what she had seen in Sam when he came back to the motel? Was it grief that made him cry? Was he feeling it at last? He seemed too calm for him to have tapped into it fully, more frustrated than devastated, but it was definitely something different.

Missouri shook her head. “He’s not feeling it, not fully. He felt a touch of it today, just brushed the surface of it, and it was…he suffered. He stopped it quickly, pushed it away from himself, but now I know his body and mind aren’t the only things blocking his power. It’s his heart, too. He’s so scared of that pain, so scared that he’s found a way to block himself off from it. A normal person couldn’t do that. But Sam isn’t normal.” She frowned. “No, normal is the wrong word. An _ungifted_ person wouldn’t be able to do it. Even I couldn’t after I lost my husband; I felt every moment of it.”

“But if he’s blocking his powers, too, isn’t that dangerous?” Mary asked, her hands twisting in her lap. “Is he in danger?”

Her sons were her priority—they always had been. If fighting this was going to hurt Sam, she was going to find a way to stop him. She would make him feel his grief in its entirety, even knowing he would never forgive her for it, rather than lose him.

“No,” Missouri soothed. “He’s promised to come back tomorrow and try again. He’s got something powerful motivating him that’s outweighing his fear. What we need to be aware of is his pain, though. When his hold on it breaks, and it will, it’s going to flood him, and that’s when he’s going to really need you. He will need me, too. I think his powers are going to come fully to the fore. You need to watch him, talk to him, even if you think he’s not listening, and make yourself as available as you can. When that dam comes down, it’ll come down hard, and he needs everyone there to help him when it does.”

Mary closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. She had been scared of Sam’s grief since the moment she heard about Jessica’s death, and she’d known he was going to need her. That was why it was so shocking when he initially shut down with them. It was the complete contradiction to what twenty-two years of his life had prepared her for. If it was going to be more than grief, if his powers were going to surge, too, she was going to be needed more than ever. As much as she wanted to be—needed to, even—she wasn’t sure she was up to the challenge.

“I need to go,” she said.

“Drink your tea first. Calm down. Sam is going to be more sensitive to you and Dean than ever before right now, with what he’s doing, so you need to be as calm as you can.”

That seemed impossible, but she knew she had to find a way if that was what he needed from her. Dean needed to know, too. He would have to focus on controlling what had always been his strong feelings.

She picked up her tea and blew it to cool it faster.

“You need to do something for me, Mary,” Missouri said.

“Anything,” Mary replied automatically.

“You can’t let Sam know what I have told you today. I need him to trust me if I’m going to be able to guide him through this exploration of his powers. If he knows I betrayed him, he will close off from me.”

“I won’t even tell him I saw you,” Mary promised. “I can keep a secret. I hate lying to them, but sometimes…”

“Sometimes you have to,” Missouri supplied when Mary trailed off, unable to finish as her mind moved to the greatest of her lies. She looked Mary right in the eyes and said, “Some secrets have to be kept. Some lies have to be told. I understand.”

Mary felt the color drain from her face. There seemed to be so much meaning in what Missouri was saying, more than just reassurance. She knew something that she wasn’t saying, and Mary thought she knew what it was.

She licked her dry lips. “How long have you known?”

Missouri looked innocently confused. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Please, Missouri,” Mary said desperately. “Don’t tell them. I can’t lose them.”

“Anything I may have heard is never going to be shared,” Missouri said serenely. “I can keep secrets, too. But…” She hesitated. “Your boys are stronger than you realize, and they love you more than you know. I think they could take it without it changing how they felt.”

“No!” Mary said harshly. “They will never know.”

“Never from me,” Missouri said. “I promise.”

Mary set down her still full cup and got to her feet. She would drive the streets until she was calm if she needed; she just couldn’t stay there another minute.

She had kept her secret thirty-two years, never telling another soul about her deal, and now that secret had been taken from her. She didn’t blame Missouri, and she trusted her not to tell anyone, but just the fact that she knew was too much for Mary to handle.

Her greatest shame and regret was no longer hers to bear alone. It had only ever been her and the demon that knew what she had done, but now there was someone else, someone that was in her boys’ lives, that was aware of who Mary really was and what she had done. It was too much.

She called thanks over her shoulder as she fled to the door, needing to get away.


	4. Chapter 4

** _Chapter Four_ **

By the time Sam reached Missouri’s house the next morning, he had a tension headache that was throbbing and his palms were sweaty. He’d had a restless night after sleeping the afternoon away the day before. That, and a tense breakfast in the diner during which Mary and Dean made small talk about the weather and how Bobby was taking on a hunt in Montana, had not helped him prepare himself for whatever Missouri wanted to try next.

He understood the necessity of what he was doing, his family needed it from him, but he was nervous about what he would see and feel when his lessons started. He would do everything he could to explore whatever it was in him that made him have the dreams, but he would not do that if it came hand in hand with grief. He knew it wasn’t fair on anyone to put down limits, and Jessica deserved his grief, but he was scared of what would happen when he felt it.

He walked slowly up Missouri’s path to the door and lifted a hand to knock. His knuckles had barely contacted the wood before it was opened, and Missouri beamed at him.

“Good morning, Sam,” she said brightly. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Sam lied automatically.

Her lips pursed, but she nodded and said, “Come on in.”

Sam entered the hall and wiped his feet before going into the living room. The purple candle was lit again, and the two crystals were in a bowl on the table. Sam cast them a wary look as he sat down on the couch and wiped his hands on his jeans.

Missouri came in and took a seat opposite him, adjusting her skirt and clasping her hands in her lap. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and I think we need to persist with meditation,” she said.

Sam shook his head jerkily. “I don’t want to feel that again.”

“I know,” she said gently. “And I don’t want you to either, but getting you into a peaceful state of mind is the only way I can think of to bring your powers to the fore. Whether or not you’re aware of it, you are blocking them. That’s why these visions come to you when you’re sleeping. Your mind is more relaxed in that state, and as a result your barriers are down. We need you to bring them down when you’re awake, too.

Sam understood the logic, but he was still scared. He didn’t want to do this.

“We have two choices,” Missouri said serenely. “We can try the open meditation again, let you sink into it yourself, or we can do it focused. I can guide you by reading your mind.”

Sam stiffened. “I don’t want that!”

“I didn’t think you would, but let me explain. If I am guiding you, I can steer you away from memories and thoughts that you don’t want by breaking into them and taking you to a different place. If you’re doing it alone, you have to rely on yourself to control where your mind goes.”

Sam shook his head and looked away, out through the French doors. “And there’s no other way of doing this?”

“Not that I can think of. You need to be calm and open for the powers to manifest. It’s when you’re aware that you’re blocking them. You’re barring the door right now, when what you need is to be inviting them in.”

Sam grimaced. It didn’t sound like something he wanted to do, inviting these ‘powers’ in. He would rather not do any of this at all. But that was what he wanted and needed. He wasn’t doing this for himself. It was about his family.

“Fine,” he said bitterly. “We’ll try again. But I don’t want you reading my mind.”

“Okay. I won’t. Take the crystals and make yourself comfortable.”

Sam picked the crystals up and held them on his open palms on his lap, then adjusted his back against the couch cushions, letting his eyes close.

“Deep breaths in through the nose and out through the mouth,” Missouri said, her voice soothing.

It was easier to fall into the rhythm of breathing this time, but Sam couldn’t let himself relax. He was constantly aware of the grief that lurked around the corner, waiting for him. It made his head ache even more, and though his eyes were closed, the light against his eyelids seemed too bright.

“What can you hear?” Missouri asked.

Sam concentrated on his veiled surroundings for a moment and said, “The clock again. I can hear that clearly.”

“What else?”

Sam allowed his senses to reach out and search for more. There were no voices this time, but in the distance, he could hear a dog barking. He told Missouri, and she said, “That’s good. Now, draw yourself in. What can you feel?”

Sam stiffened. This was when it had gone wrong last time. He didn’t want to think about Jess, but the action of trying not to think of her made it harder not to. Her face swam in his vision, and his eyes snapped open and he gasped.

“What happened?” Missouri asked.

“Jess,” Sam said, his voice steeped in the misery that was making his chest ache. “I saw her face.”

Missouri sighed. “I don’t think this is going to work.”

“It has to!” Sam said desperately. “I have to do this for them. I’ll try again.”

He let his eyes close and tried to calm his breaths. He focused on the ticking of the clock and tried to let that fill his mind. It worked to a fashion—it filled his mind, but he was hyperaware of what might happen next. He felt panic creeping up on him, and he fought to keep his breaths steady, but instead made them too deep so that his head swam.

“Stop, Sam,” Missouri said firmly.

Sam opened his eyes and drew a juddering breath. “I’m trying,” he said defensively, sitting forward and curving his back as if he was shielding himself.

“I know,” she soothed. “But what is blocking you is trying harder than you are. You’re surrounded by grey.”

Sam frowned. “I’m what?”

“Your aura. You’re dark grey right now, blocking the psychic channels.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “What color do you associate with me?”

Sam looked around the room at the heavy furniture in dark shades of wood and fabric. “Brown.”

“No, not my home,” she said. “What color am _I_?”

“Yellow?” Sam said, forming it as a question.

“Is that a guess?”

Sam considered a moment, trying to let himself relax his mind and give an honest answer. “I don’t know.”

“Try looking,” she suggested. “Look at me and allow your eyes to see past me and focus on what’s around me. Tell me if you see a color.”

Feeling stupid but wanting to try something that didn’t come with a risk of grief, Sam allowed his eyes to fix on Missouri’s hopeful face and then relax, trying to see around her. At first all that happened was that she blurred—he blinked faster, and then noticed the glow around her head. It _was_ yellow, a pure, brilliant shade that seemed to surround her.

He refocused his eyes and said, “You are yellow. Really bright yellow.”

She beamed at him. “I am, and you’re yellow now, too.”

“I am?”

“Yellow, for me, means my spiritual side. I am open to the powers. Your shade of yellow is less…reassuring. You’re dark yellow, almost brown, which tells me you’re scared still. You’re trying to learn but you’re also fighting it. You’re tired.”

“That doesn’t sound better than grey,” Sam pointed out.

“But it is. It means that you’re more spiritually aware now than you were when we started today. The fear is natural and to be expected for someone in your situation. But it’s better. You’re doing well, Sam. Now, I want to try meditation again. Just concentrate on your breathing at first. Get a good rhythm.”

Sam sat back and let his breaths come slow and steady. It was easier to do than before, and he assumed it was something to do with the fact he was more ‘aware.’ He just focused on his breaths for a moment, and then, at Missouri’s command, started to explore what was around him. The dog had stopped barking now, but there were voices and the sound of a door slamming. 

“What do you feel, Sam?” Missouri asked.

Sam could feel his lungs expanding and contracting with each breath, he could feel the ache in his back, and he could feel the crystals in his hands, but he knew that wasn’t what she _wanted_ to hear. He was supposed to be feeling more, some connection to the ‘powers’ he was supposed to have, but he felt nothing like that.

“I don’t feel it,” he said. “It’s all physical still.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “It’s not been that long. Try to remember how if felt when you saw my aura and try again…”

Sam concentrated on the flicker he’d felt in his chest when he’d seen the yellow glow and tried to find it again now, but there was nothing there. He took a breath, drawing the air deep into his lungs, and tried to reach for the feeling.

“It’s not working,” he said, his shoulders slumping as he opened his eyes again.

“That’s okay,” Missouri said calmly. “Come back to me and focus on my aura again. What does that feel like?”

Sam tried to look through her, searching for the glow, and felt the flicker in his chest again. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I think it makes me happy…”

xXx

Sam was exhausted by the time he left Missouri’s that afternoon, and was frustrated there had been no new breakthrough. Missouri seemed happy that he was able to see her aura, and it had gotten easier the longer he tried, but the meditation attempts it was interspersed with hadn’t gotten any better. He still couldn’t find whatever it was Missouri wanted from him.

He walked home slowly, his head still aching dully, and contemplating what was coming the next day—probably more of the same. He felt better that he had something to offer Mary and Dean—the fact he could see auras—but it didn’t feel like enough.

Missouri had encouraged him to look for Dean’s aura when he got back, saying his was always clearest to her, and he planned to try. Perhaps if he could do that, it would put him in a better headspace to do more of what she wanted.

When he reached the motel he saw the Impala parked outside their room, but the space where the Jeep had been was empty. 

He knocked on Mary’s door, expecting Dean to be in there, but there was no answer, so he went to his and Dean’s room and used the key card to open the door.

Dean was sitting on his bed, back against the headboard and legs stretched out in front of him, a book in his hands. As Sam came in, he lowered it to his lap and smiled tentatively.

“Hey. How did it go?”

“It was okay,” Sam said. “I was able to see Missouri’s aura, which made her pretty happy, but there was no other breakthrough.”

“Auras sound good though,” Dean said encouragingly. “It’s only your second day of trying.”

Sam nodded and filled a glass of water from the faucet in the small kitchenette and sipped it. “Find anything good in there?” he asked, nodding to the book in Dean’s hands.

“Loads of good,” Dean said, seeming pleased by the question, “but nothing about the Colt. It’s slow. We can’t skim over it in case it’s a vague reference, so we’re reading the history of a bunch of dead hunters and all their kills. I’m learning a lot, but not what we actually need.” He set the book down and swung his legs down from the bed. “But you’re back now, Mom’s gone to see Mike at the garage, so study time is over. Let’s get you a beer.”

Sam sat down in the chair at the table and stretched his back, trying to find relief from the ache he felt there, as Dean went to the small fridge and took out two bottles of beer. He straightened up and handed one to Sam, and then dropped down on the edge of the bed opposite.

“How are you doing, Sammy?” he asked. “You seem a little more…mellow?”

Sam shrugged. “I guess. I don’t know. It was different today, not so intense.”

He hadn’t told Mary or Dean what had happened the day before, how he’d stroked the surface of his trapped grief. He didn’t want them to know either. Dean seemed happy, and he didn’t want to drag that down.

“That’s good,” Dean said. There was a moment of silence in which Sam tried to draw his attention back to his brother, and failed, before Dean continued in a hearty tone. “Get this, I read about one thing in this journal. It was called a Nixie and…”

Sam allowed Dean’s words to rush over him as he spoke animatedly about what he had seen, and Sam let his eyes focus on—and then through—his brother. He wanted to see if Dean’s aura was as easy to sense as Missouri’s.

His eyes blurred and then he spotted the glow around Dean’s face. It was turquoise closest to him and then darkening to indigo at the edges. Sam found himself smiling naturally for the first time in what felt like a very long time.

“Sammy? Are you okay?” Dean asked, his voice worried.

Sam blinked and allowed his attention to drift back to the room. The fact Dean was worried when he smiled was a show of how wrong things had become, and he felt guilty for it, but there was also a sense of relief and excitement that he’d been able to see Dean’s aura as clearly as Missouri’s.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine.”

Dean frowned. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I just spaced for a minute,” Sam said. “Is it okay if I use the laptop?”

“Sure,” Dean said slowly. “Just don’t close that program down. It’s running the search for us.”

Sam had a vague recollection of Mary and Dean talking about a program Ash had made for them, but he didn’t remember what it was for. He would ask, but first he wanted to see what Dean’s colors meant.

He pulled the laptop over to him and looked at the map of blinking lights and numbers running up and down the side of the screen. It looked complicated, whatever it was, and he made a mental note to find out what it was another time. He was too curious about Dean to do it now. 

He opened a browser, and when it had loaded, searched for aura color explanations. There was a wealth of results, and he picked the first.

There was a knock on the door behind him, and he glanced up, but Dean was already on his feet and opening it, so Sam looked back at the results and murmured a greeting to his mother when he heard her voice.

He found the result he needed, and a small smile curled his lips. The turquoise showed sensitivity and compassion, qualities Dean had in spades but let show more rarely than his humor and lightheartedness. The indigo pertained to his ability to feel deeply and the strength of his intuition.

Someone laid a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up into his mother’s concerned face. “Are you okay, honey?” she asked.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I’m just checking something. I saw Missouri’s aura today. She seemed pretty pleased about it.”

“That’s good,” she said. “Don’t push too hard though. It’s only your second day of trying.”

“I won’t,” Sam said distractedly as he allowed his eyes to relax around her and search for the color. It was harder to see now, almost as if it was concealed, but there was a dark, muddy pink around her throat. It wasn’t a reassuring color like Dean’s.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, cupping his cheek.

“Yeah, maybe,” Sam said. “I just want to do something.”

He turned his attention to the laptop and scrolled down the results, looking for shades of pink. He found it and read quickly, lines etching into his brow with each word. The shade of pink he had seen showed dishonesty and lies.

He quickly shut down the browser and pushed the laptop away, thinking over what he’d read. His mother was lying about something, or more than one thing. What was it? They _never_ lied to each other—none of them. Sam had lied about not remembering Jessica’s death, and he’d felt no guilt about it as he’d not felt anything at the time, but now he regretted it. Their relationships were built on love and trust, and he’d never doubted that from the other members of his family, but unless he’d misread Mary, she was lying to them.

Was it something silly, a small lie that meant nothing, or was it bigger? As little as Sam wanted to think if it, he realized he’d seen it there right after he’d told Mary about seeing Missouri’s aura and how she’d been pleased. Had Mary been lying when she said it was good? Was she maybe worried about Sam’s ‘power’ growing after all? Had his fears for what they were really feeling true after all? Dean showed no sign of deception, but Mary did. Was her focus on saving his life what made her encourage him to work with Missouri? Was she scared of his power?

“Mexican, Sammy?” Dean asked, breaking into his thoughts.

“Yeah, sure,” Sam said. “Sounds good.”

His voice was vague, even to his own ears. He wasn’t thinking about food or auras now. He was thinking about what his mother was really hiding from him and what it could mean.

Was he really going to lose what he had with her because of what was happening to him? Did the cost of seeing and doing what Missouri said he could mean he wouldn’t have that same relationship with his mother?

It was too high a price to pay, wasn’t it? Was his life worth living if he stopped fighting and gained strength, but wouldn’t have his mom in the same way anymore?

He was scared of the answer.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean was in the room he shared with Sam, sitting at the table with yet another journal in front of him. Mary was sitting opposite him with the laptop. Though Ash had set it to alert them independently if there was a powerful demon sign that arose, she was tracking the dots across the maps herself. Dean suspected she needed a break from reading the journals.

They were both struggling. Dean was eager for Sam to get back from Missouri’s, but at the same time, he was worried what would happen when he did. Ever since Sam had come home more positive after seeing Missouri’s aura, he’d been staying there later, not coming home until the evening for the past three days. And the positivity had vanished as fast as it’d come. Dean wasn’t sure what had happened, but one moment he’d been mellow, seeming almost happy, and then next he had shut down again. He wasn’t shut down emotionally—that was clear in his tight brow and sad eyes—but he wasn’t telling them what was wrong.

When they’d brought the problem up to Bobby, the man had proposed the idea that it could be the grief creeping up on him. It made sense, because in some rare moments, Sam had looked like he’d been crying; but, he shrugged off both Mary and Dean’s questions about the topic when they brought it up. Then, when Bobby had called him directly on his cell to scout the situation for them, Sam had answered in monosyllables and handed the phone off to Dean rather quickly.

Dean didn’t know why or how, but he had a feeling it had something to do with Mary more than it did grief. Sam had changed when she got back from the garage, and he’d not been the same since. When he was with her, there was a wariness about him, as if he was protecting himself somehow. Dean hadn’t pressed the subject to find out if she knew what had changed, but he’d heard a whispered phone call with Missouri in which she seemed to be seeking reassurance about something. She was as aware of the change in Sam’s reaction to her as Dean was.

Sam had stopped telling them about his sessions with Missouri, too. He came home late, in pain, and generally disappeared with painkillers before they could ask him much. The only chance they had to speak to him was at breakfast and dinner, but he refused to be led into conversation. Dean had tried to talk to him the night before when they went to bed, but Sam had just said he was tired and rolled over, exposing his back to Dean in a clear end to the attempted conversation. 

Mary pushed the laptop away, drawing Dean’s attention from his thoughts, and said, “Do you want a coffee?”

Dean shrugged. “Sure.”

Mary went to the counter and began filling the coffee pot as Dean turned a page of the journal and began to read an account of a hunt for a nest of vampires. He’d hunted vampires before, so wasn’t fully engaged with the details the way he was when he read about creatures he’d not faced before, but then he spotted something that made his heart skip.

“Mom!” he said, his voice strangled. “Listen to this!” He cleared his throat roughly and read the lines of untidy text aloud_. _

_“‘I believe I saw The Gun today. The vampires had me on the ropes, and I thought it was over, but a man appeared out of nowhere and took the lead vampire out. He used a machete for the kill, but he had a gun in his holster that drew my attention with its decorated stock. There was a roughly carved pentagram. When the vampires were dispatched, I asked about it, my curiosity piqued by the stories I heard only a year ago in the tavern. He showed it to me without comment, and I noted the Latin engraving on the barrel—Non Timebo Mala. It was just as I had heard, a thing of beauty. I pressed the hunter for information, but he stowed it away and left me without saying a word, riding faster than I could have followed on Sycorax, who was weary after the ride to the vampires. It could have been a replica carried for status, or it could have been the real thing. I cannot be sure but, in my heart, I believe I saw Samuel Colt’s miraculous creation today. I just wish I had seen it used. It would have been a great moment to see a bullet from a gun kill a vampire.’”_

“My god,” Mary breathed. “Whose journal is that?”

“Patrick Flannagan,” Dean read from the cover and then checked the back page. “He stopped writing in 1895, but this entry was from 1890 in Colorado. I know we don’t have a name for the hunter with the gun, or even proof that it was really _the _Colt, but it’s more than I’ve found so far.”

“It definitely sounds like it. My father said it had that inscription and pentagram. The barrel and hammer were engraved, too.” She ran a shaking hand over her face. “It could be it. It could really be real.”

Dean nodded eagerly. “It’s not like he’d just be bragging about seeing it. He wrote the journal for himself; no one else was supposed to read it, so he wouldn’t lie.” He felt his heart skip a beat. “I think it’s real, Mom.” 

Mary smiled widely, and then she her smile became a frown. “But we don’t know who the hunter was.”

“Does it matter right now?” Dean asked, frustrated that the breakthrough was falling flat already, a frown of his own creasing his brow. “It’s out there. This is what we’ve been looking for. We’re not going to find an address or number for whoever has it now in any of these journals, but now we know it really could be real. This hunter believed it was. It could exist somewhere.”

Mary’s lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course. You’re right, Dean. This is great news. I’ll tell Bobby.”

She flipped on the coffee maker and took her phone from the table. Dialling quickly, she put it on speaker and set it down on the table, coming to sit opposite Dean again.

_“Mary?”_ Bobby answered gruffy.

“Bobby, we think we’ve found something,” Mary said.

Dean was disappointed that her voice held none of the excitement he felt, so he launched into the explanation himself, not wanting their moment of success to be dulled by Mary’s reticence.

“It’s a hunter that saw the Colt,” he said quickly. “It was in 1890 in Colorado. It has the Latin and pentagram Mom said it would have. He didn’t get the name of the hunter that had it, but he _saw _it.”

_“That’s good,”_ Bobby said tentatively.

Dean felt his own happiness evaporating. He thought this was pretty big, but they didn’t seem as enthused as him.

“What’s the problem, Bobby?” he asked curtly.

_“There’s no problem. I just think it’s a little early to bust out the fireworks. Maybe he did see it, maybe it is real, but it doesn’t give us any more than we started out with. We still don’t know where it is. We need to keep going with the journals, find a name maybe. If we knew who had it then, we might be able to track it down the years to where it is now. A lot of hunters have the family connection you and your mom have to the life. Something this important would have been passed down the line.”_

Dean sat back in his chair. “Yeah. I guess.”

_“It is good, Dean, but it’s not everything we need. Stick with the journals and see what else you can find. I’m looking at my own when I get a chance, and I’ve put a couple calls in. I’ve even tried Rufus.”_

Dean leaned toward the phone. “What did he say?”

_“He told me he’d kill me if I called again,”_ Bobby said calmly. _“But before that he said I should focus on changing spark plugs instead of chasing mythical guns.” _

“Sounds like Rufus,” Mary muttered, and then raised her voice for Bobby to hear. “Okay, Bobby, we’ll keep going and call if we find anything else." She reached for the phone again, but Bobby spoke before she could hang up.

_“How’s Sam doing?”_

Mary winced. Dean thought she had wanted to end the call before this so they wouldn’t have to impart the news that nothing had changed, or perhaps to avoid having to tell him that it was her that had somehow shut Sam down.

“The same,” she said, then glanced out the window. “He’s back now. You want to hold on and talk to him?”

_“Sure. Can’t hurt.”_

Dean watched from behind the glass as Sam climbed out of the Jeep that he’d left in that morning and then disappeared from view. It wasn’t long before the door opened and he stepped in. He looked a little disappointed, as if he’d been hoping the room would be empty. Acknowledging Mary’s tentative greeting with a nod, he muttered a greeting to Dean before going straight to his duffel.

“Bobby’s on the phone, Sam,” Mary said, her face lined with sadness that told Dean she was as aware of Sam’s avoidance of her as he was.

Sam glanced at the phone and said, “Hey, Bobby.”

_“How are you doing, son?”_

“Fine,” Sam said, rooting through his duffel and taking out a bottle of Tylenol, a clear sign that his answer hadn’t been honest. He shook two pills into his hand, dry swallowed them, grimaced, then chased them down with a cupped hand of water from the faucet.

“Headache?” Mary asked.

Sam nodded, keeping his eyes downcast.

_“How are things going with Missouri?” _Bobby asked.

Sam pushed his hair back from his face with a wince. “Nothing new to report. No breakthrough.”

_“How do you feel about that?” _

Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s fine.”

Bobby’s sigh crackled over the line.

“I’ll talk to you later, Bobby,” Sam said. “I need to lie down for a while.” He threw himself onto his bed and turned his back on them.

Recognizing the dismissal, Dean closed the journal he was reading from, tucked it under his arm, and picked up the laptop. “We’ll leave you to sleep, Sammy.” He walked toward the door and then realized his mother hadn’t moved. “Come on, Mom,” he said.

Mary nodded. “We’ll wake you in an hour for something to eat, Sam,” she said gently, then switched off the coffee maker and picked up the phone.

She opened the door and Dean maneuvered his way out, the laptop balanced in his hands. She closed the door behind them and they walked the short distance to her room, and Dean waited for her to open the door. She gestured him in ahead of her, and he carried the laptop to the table and set it down and plugged in the charger.

Mary closed the door behind her and sank down on the edge of her bed.

_“He’s been like that the whole time?” _ Bobby asked.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Dean said. “He’s got a headache now, so that’s probably a part of it, but he’s not been much better than that for a few days.” 

_“Think it’s worth me coming by and speaking to him in person?”_

“You can try,” Mary said doubtfully.

_“Aw, I don’t know,”_ Bobby said, his frustration clear. _“I don’t want to make it worse by laying more pressure on him, but maybe he’ll open up to one of us if we try something different. It can’t be good for what he’s doing with Missouri if he’s like this with her. I’m guessing there’s got to be a certain level of openness for it to work out.” _

“You’re welcome to come try,” Mary said, no sign of hope in her voice.

_“I’ll leave tomorrow afternoon. I’ve got to finish up with the Kline’s minivan first. I’ll call you when I’m leaving, and we can try to work something out. Maybe if you two give us a little time while you fetch in dinner, I can get him talking.”_

“Thanks, Bobby,” Mary said.

_“No need to thank me,”_ Bobby said. _“This is all our problem. I better go. I’ll see if I can get some hours in on the van before it’s too damn cold to work. Take care of yourselves.”_

They said their goodbyes and Mary ended the call. She tucked the phone back in her shirt pocket and said, “You want to take a break from the journals tonight? I can read them and you can keep an eye on the program.”

Dean knew she was giving him a night off, as the program didn’t really need watching, and he was grateful for it. His excitement of the mention of the Colt had been replaced by worry about his brother, and reading endless hunts from the eighteenth century wasn’t going to do much to pick up his mood.

“Yeah, thanks, Mom,” he said. “And I’ll go get us dinner later. You don’t need to go out again. I’ll get us…” His voice trailed away as he thought he heard a muffled voice coming through the wall that adjoined the two rooms they had booked. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Mary asked, and then lurched to her feet as they both heard Sam’s voice raise into a shout through the wall.

They ran out of the room to Sam and Dean’s, and Dean fumbled with the key card in his nerves. Mary snatched it out of his hand then unlocked and opened the door.

Dean rushed in after her and went straight to Sam’s bed. He was lying on his back, his hands clawed in front of him, and his face twisted with anguish. As Dean watched, frozen by what he was seeing, Sam shouted as if in pain.

Mary grabbed Sam’s shoulders and shook them. “Sam! Wake up!”

Sam turned his face into the pillow and moaned.

“Help me, Dean!” Mary commanded.

Dean rushed around the bed to Sam’s other side and punched his arm hard. Sam’s eyes flew open, and for a moment he stared blindly up at the ceiling, the horrors of his dream still on his face. Then he was upright and climbing out of bed, not even seeming to see or feel Mary as he pushed past her.

Mary stepped in front of him and cupped his cheeks in her hands. “Look at me, Sam,” she ordered. “Tell me what you saw.”

Sam blinked and appeared to become aware of his surroundings at last. “Mom,” he breathed, no sign of the barrier he’d put between them both for the past few days present; he sounded scared. “We have to go.”

“Go where?” Mary asked, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. “What did you see?”

Sam stepped back and pressed a hand to his forehead, digging his fingers into his skin, leaving crescents from his fingernails. “The Roadhouse. It’s a demon. She’s going to kill them all.”

“The Roadhouse has protections,” Mary said. “They can’t get in.”

Sam groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. “She can’t get in, but she can burn it to the ground. They’re all trapped in there. I heard them dying.”

Dean pushed down the wave of horror he felt and moved to stand beside Sam. He gripped his arm and turned him so he could see his face. “What _exactly_ did you see?”

Sam opened his eyes and fixed his horrified gaze on Dean. “She’s tall and is wearing a red leather skirt and black top. She tries to get in through the back, and when she sees the trap, she gets angry. She takes the gas can out of a truck and pours it around the doors then lights it. The building goes up fast. I can _hear _them…” He groaned again.

“Mom, call Bill!” Dean ordered. “Warn them. Tell them we’re coming.”

Mary pulled out her phone and walked away from them, getting distance from Sam’s sounds of pain.

“Do you know when this is going to happen?” he asked.

Sam’s brow furrowed as he struggled for a moment, but then said, “It was really dark, late, but there were cars in the lot, so they were open. I heard REO Speedwagon. Jo must be home.” He flinched. “Oh god… Jo!”

Dean held his shoulders and squeezed them. “It’s not going to happen. Me and Mom are going there to stop it. Just tell us everything you saw.”

“I’m coming,” Sam said.

“You’re not,” Dean said firmly. “You’re in pain and you’re exhausted. You’ll slow us down when we get there. You have to let us handle this.”

He felt like an asshole for saying it, but Sam would distract them both, as weak with pain as he was now, and he and Mary needed to be able to focus completely if they were going after a demon. Dean had never faced one, and it had been years since Mary had. Sam was a liability.

Dean looked over his shoulder at Mary and said, “If Jo’s there now, it could be tonight.”

Mary nodded curtly and then asked another hurried question of Bill.

“Sit down, Sammy,” Dean said, guiding him to the edge of the bed. “Take a breath. We’re going now. If you see _anything _else or remember anything that will help, call us.”

Sam nodded weakly and then fixed fervent eyes on Dean. “You have to stop it, Dean. I heard them dying. It will be…”

“I know,” Dean said, horrifying images presenting themselves to him. “We’ll stop it. You just rest. We’ll call as soon as we know anything.”

Mary hung up the phone and said, “They’re preparing now.”

“What did you tell them about Sam?” Dean asked.

“Nothing,” Mary answered quickly, her expression one of annoyance. “I said we got the tip from a demon. We have to leave.” She rushed to Sam and bent to kiss his cheek. “We’re going to take care of this, honey.”

Sam looked at her imploringly. “You have to help them, Mom. You can’t let them die like that.”

Mary pressed her forehead to his for a moment, a pained look on her face, and said, “We’re going to fix it, I promise.”

Dean grabbed his journal from the table and the keys to the Impala. He would need the exorcism notes in case his memory let him down, and the Impala was faster than the Jeep. He chanced a glance at Sam, seeing him sitting with his head in his hands, and then yanked open the door and rushed out.

Mary came out after him, her face tight with fear and worry, and she looked at him over the roof of the car. “Are you ready for this, Dean?”

Dean nodded stiffly as he unlocked the car. “I will be. We’ll stop it.”

He had to be ready. They had to stop it. If he wasn’t, if they failed, a bar full of hunters and people they loved—Ellen, Bill and Jo—were going to die a horrific death.


	6. Chapter 6

Mary sat tensed in her seat as Dean steered them through evening traffic on the interstate, pushing the Impala’s engine to its limits on Route 75.

They’d shaved off a decent chunk of the time it should have taken them to make the journey, but it still felt too slow to Mary. Her friends, practically family, were at the end of this ride, and they needed backup. It didn’t matter that The Roadhouse was probably full of hunters that had taken out far more demons than she ever had—she needed to be there.

Dean skidded them off the interstate and onto the quieter roads that led to The Roadhouse, and Mary leaned forward as if that would help them get there faster.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Dean said, the words reassuring although his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel wasn’t. “We’re nearly there.”

“I know,” Mary said, her voice falsely confident. “And there’s nowhere better defended than The Roadhouse. It’ll probably be over before we get there.”

“Yeah.”

They took another corner, and Mary looked at the dark fields and familiar shadow of a silo they were passing, knowing they were almost there.

When they were close enough to see the lit sign and windows of the bar, Dean slowed them slightly and pulled to a stop, blocking in three other cars, and threw himself out.

Mary followed him, heading toward the door, then stopped and redirected herself as she heard a voice hissing her name from the side of the building. They jogged around and saw Bill and Mackey standing in the shadows by the back door. 

Mary breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of them—they weren’t too late—and her heart eased further when she saw the stake in Bill’s hand.

“Palo Santo?” she asked hopefully.

Bill nodded. “Isaac and Tamara loaned it to us. They’re inside.”

Dean eyed the stake and said, “How many others are in there?”

“About a dozen hunters. We got the civilians out,” Bill explained. “We’re just clearing the last of the protections out here.”

Dean gaped at him. “You’re taking down protections!” 

“You said the demon was planning to burn the place down,” Bill said. “We’re hoping we can get it inside to trap it instead.”

“How did you even find out this much?” Mackey asked. “Bill said you caught a demon.”

“We did,” Mary lied. “We had it trapped and were using salt and holy water to find out about something else. It tried to deal with us, exchanging information if we’d let it go. It told us about its buddy’s plan to take out The Roadhouse. We exorcised it after hearing what we needed.”

“You must have been hard on it,” Mackey said.

Dean shrugged, looking perfectly unconcerned. “The meatsuit made it. Sam’s at the hospital with her now.”

Mary was proud of his smooth lies. They usually tried to keep things as close to the truth as they could when taking on supernatural cases, without destroying people’s worlds and innocence, but he was good at what he did; if she hadn’t known the truth, she would have believed it. Bill and Mackey obviously did.

“Then we owe you all,” Bill said. “If you hadn’t warned us…” He shuddered. “We’ve shuttled Jo off to a friend’s place for the night. She wasn’t happy, but I’d be damned if I her stay for this.”

“What’s the plan?” Dean asked.

“Keep most people inside and try to make things look as normal as possible,” Bill said. “I’m out here for when they come.”

“We’ll stay with you,” Mary said.

Bill nodded. “Okay. Good. Mackey, do you want go in? Tell Ellen that Mary and Dean have arrived?”

Mackey looked a little confused, but he nodded and walked around to the front of the bar. They heard the sounds of voices and music swell and become muffled again as the door opened and closed behind him.

Bill held up a hand as Dean opened his mouth to speak, and walked forward to check they were alone before coming back and drawing deeper into the shadows, gesturing for them to follow. When they were standing with their backs pressed against the wall, he looked Mary dead in the eye and asked, “How did you _really _know what’s going on?”

Mary sighed. She should have known Bill would suspect more. Their careful lies aside, it was a farfetched story.

“I will tell you,” she promised, and Dean shot her a sharp look, “but not until this is over. I want this to stay between us, and not have half the hunters here knowing what happened.”

“It’s that big of a secret?” Bill asked.

“Yeah,” Dean muttered. “About the biggest we have.”

Mary kept her expression stoic, but she was wondering if that was true. She had her secret, but this was bigger. If people knew about her deal, she would be judged and she might destroy her relationship with her sons. If hunters knew about Sam’s dreams, he would be declared a psychic and untrusted by them all, if not worse. If Gordon Walker and his cronies knew… She didn’t want to imagine what might happen.

xXx

They lurked outside in silence for what felt like a long time, though Mary could see by the dimly lit hands on her watch that it was only half an hour, before there was the rumble of a motorcycle engine approaching.

Mary pushed Dean closer to the wall with a hand on his chest, and she heard Bill draw in a deep breath. She was worried about Dean being out there with her, but she knew (selfishly) that he was safer close to her—not inside the building Sam said would burn.

Dean was a good hunter, among the best she’d seen since she’d hunted with her father, and she knew with a few more years’ experience he would excel even Samuel Campbell. But, he was also her son and she wanted him safe.

She had learned early on that she needed Dean to be able to stretch his legs and find his footing as a hunter, and usually she was confident that he would handle himself, but this was a demon, and he’d never faced one before. Mary knew better than anyone just how dangerous they could be. Yellow-Eyes was the most powerful she’d ever heard of, and though nothing Sam said made her think this was anything more than a foot soldier, it was still a risk.

Footsteps crunched across the gravel toward them, and Mary held her breath. She felt slight movement at her side that told her Bill was adjusting his grip on the stake.

“I know you’re there,” a sultry female voice said, Bill was ab. “Are you going to come out to play?”

Mary pressed her hand against Dean’s chest again, just in case his more impulsive nature came to the fore and he struck, but he made no move to attack. She leaned close to him and whispered in his ear, her words no more than a breath, “Don’t move until I say your name.” Dean nodded slightly and Mary raised her voice to a shout. “Now, Bill!”

Bill lurched away from the wall and ran around the corner. Mary followed him and ran at the demon, preparing to tackle it to the ground. She expected the move to come, was relying on it in fact, when the demon swept a hand through the air and her back slammed into the wall of the bar. She growled out a curse and exaggerated her capitulation by struggling.

With the demon distracted by Mary as she’d hoped, Bill was able to get closer to the demon before being knocked back, the stake falling from his hand. He landed hard on the ground and the demon stood over him, her feet planted either side of his chest.

“Bill Harvelle, it’s good to see you again,” the demon sneered.

“You!” Bill growled, chancing a glance at Mary who gave him a small nod.

“Me,” she said, bending closer to him. “You didn’t guess, then. I wondered if you had.”

The fact Bill knew the demon confirmed to Mary that the bar was being targeted as more than a way to take out a large group of hunters in one go.

Mary struggled harder, fighting to be free, and the demon turned her attention to her.

“You I don’t know. What’s your name?”

“Mary Winchester. Please, don’t hurt my son. He’s just a kid.”

She could imagine Dean’s face as he heard what she said, and she hoped he knew she was saying it for the benefit of the demon.

The demon swung her leg over Bill and started toward Mary instead. “I’ve heard of you, Mary Winchester. Weren’t you one of the boss’ chosen? Which son is it? Dean or _Sammy_?” There was a leer in her voice.

Mary’s eyes widened. She was terrified the demon was going to expose her deal, and overwhelmed by the way the demon’s voice became a croon as she mentioned Sam. That made her act too fast, abandoning her plan. She shouted Dean’s name as Bill shouted to Ellen.

Dean rushed around the corner and grabbed the stake from the ground. He was quick, almost too quick for the demon, but she spun on her heel and grabbed him around the throat. Dean kept his cool, even though his face was reddening, and lifted the stake and jabbed it at her. He was fast, but the demon was faster. She turned slightly so the stake didn’t go as deep as Dean had intended, but it was enough of an injury to hurt her, and she dropped him as the stake burned her.

Dean staggered back, rubbing his throat at the same moment the night came to life with voices. The hunters that had been waiting inside, poised to attack, flooded out, and as Mary dropped from the wall and staggered toward Dean, Walt and Roy grabbed the demon and dragged her away. She was howling with pain the whole time. Mary had heard Palo Santo burned demons like holy water, but she’d never used it herself.

She cupped Dean’s cheeks and asked, “Are you okay?”

He nodded, still rubbing his throat. “I’m fine,” he said a little hoarsely. “She only had me for a moment.”

Bill was soon on his feet, and he slapped Dean on the back. “You did good, Dean. Really.”

Dean looked pleased by the praise, then he lifted an eyebrow and said, “Just a kid, Mom?”

She smiled, unabashed. “I wanted her to underestimate you. It worked. You got her.”

Dean grinned. “I did.”

“We should get in,” Bill said.

Mary patted Dean’s cheek and then followed Bill into the bar. The demon was sitting in a chair in the center of the room over a painted devil’s trap, Isaac and Roy wrapping ropes around her chest. Tamara was watching, passing the stake of Palo Santo from hand to hand. Mary was surprised they’d taken it out, but she realized as Ellen came forward with a roll of bandages and began to tie it over the wound on the demon’s arm, they were thinking of the meatsuit’s survival when it was over.

Mary took in the demon properly for the first time. She was exactly as Sam had described. Her red leather skirt was hitched high, revealing an expanse of long legs tipped with red stiletto heels. Her black top was low cut and cleavage spilled out.

Seeing the detailed evidence of one of Sam’s visions for the first time, just as Dean had in California, was eerie. She never doubted what Sam saw was real, but to be faced with it was different. If he had time to take in her outfit so clearly, the details of what came after, the fire and the sounds of people trapped inside, it must have been so much more intense.

The other hunters that had been in The Roadhouse were standing in a loose circle around the trap, their faces stony.

Ellen tied off the bandage and stepped back as Isaac checked the hold of the ropes and nodded. “She’s locked down tight.”

The demon seemed supremely unconcerned by her situation. Her eyes found Mary and she winked. Mary’s heart raced. What was she about to say? If she did know about the deal, was she about to expose Mary’s secret to a room full of hunters? To her son?

She grabbed Bill’s arm and pulled him back. “We need to clear the room,” she said quietly. “Just you, me, Ellen and Dean.”

Bill frowned. “Why?”

“Trust me,” she said, her eyes intense and pleading.

Bill appraised her for a moment and then nodded. “Okay, thank you all for your help, but you should go now.”

“Go?” Walt said blankly.

“All of you,” Bill said. “We can handle the exorcism alone, and the meatsuit doesn’t need to see so many of us when she’s back. We don’t know how much she’s seen already or how she’ll react, but the less faces, the better. Remember Barker?”

Jonas Barker was a hunter that had found a demon years ago, long before Dean was hunting, and the meatsuit had come around and freaked out. Jonas had untied him and tried to help him to a hospital, but the meatsuit, a college kid, had run and Jonas hadn’t followed. The kid had called the cops and given a good enough description of Jonas for the cops to put out a photo-fit of him to be brought in for questioning, accused of causing the injuries the kid had received as part of his time as a meatsuit. Barker now lived and hunted on the run, needing to avoid cops at every turn.

It was a unique situation, but it was enough for the gathered hunters to mutter agreement and begin to gather their belongings and leave.

Isaac peered back through the door and said, “Dean, you need to move that rolling iron of yours. You’ve blocked me in.”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry,” Dean said.

He followed the hunters out the door and Mary waited for the rumble of the Impala to reach her over the sounds of the other engines starting outside.

“What’s going on, Mary?” Ellen asked.

The demon laughed. “Yeah, _Mary, _what’s going on? Are your friends not in on the secret?”

Mary grabbed the roll of bandage and stepped into the trap behind the demon. The demon jerked her head from side to side, but Mary managed to get the bandage around her mouth and tie it off tightly at the back of her head, effectively gagging her.

Ellen and Bill were watching her carefully, and Mary said, “Not yet.”

Ellen narrowed her eyes but Bill nodded and said, “Okay. Later.”

The sounds of the engines outside faded away and then the door opened again; Dean waltzed in, his journal in hand.

Mary nodded to him and said, “This is Dean’s exorcism.”

Neither Ellen nor Bill objected, and Dean looked pleased, if a little nervous as he turned to the right page of his notes.

He glanced at Mary. She gave him an encouraging smile and said, “When you’re ready.”

Dean cleared his throat and began calmly. He enunciated each word carefully, and only glanced down at his notes occasionally, making Mary realize he’d been practicing beyond what he had done with her.

“_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii…”_

The demon locked her eyes on Mary and seemed to stare right into her, to the darkest place where her secrets lie. She had no doubt that the demon knew about her deal, and if she had not been gagged, would have been spilling the whole story to Dean, Ellen and Bill. 

As the exorcism continued, the demon began to react to it. Her face twisted with pain, and muffled words began to slip around the gag. Mary couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard Sam’s name and her own mixed with growls.

It was hard for her not to urge Dean on, to hurry him to end it, but she knew that any interference would break Dean’s flow and slow the process, giving the demon more time to talk.

Dean lowered his journal and spoke triumphantly, staring into the demon’s eyes, as he finished. _“Te rogamus, audi nos!”_

The demon’s head flew back and black smoke poured from her mouth around the gag, funneling for a moment in the air before sinking into the floor, leaving sparks in the floorboards that faded and left no sign of damage behind them.

Ellen rushed forward and removed the gag from the woman’s mouth, and Bill pressed his fingers to her throat, but Mary knew before he shook his head and sighed that the woman was dead, her chest perfectly still.

Ellen moved back with a hand over her mouth, and Mary squeezed Dean’s hand, seeing his horror as he took in the body of the woman who had been animated by a demon only moments ago.

“Did I do that?” he whispered, his eyes wide.

“No,” Mary said soothingly. “I told you about this. Demons usually destroy the meatsuits.”

Bill ran a hand over the back of the woman’s head and winced. “Gunshot,” he said. “She had no chance. The demon probably did it herself.”

“That’s sick,” Dean said, his voice weak.

Mary put her arm around him and squeezed. “It’s over for her now. She’s in a better place.”

Dean nodded and moved away, his expression still horrified. Mary wished there were words to comfort him, but she remembered her first exorcism that ended with a dead meatsuit and the horror she’d felt that nothing her father had said in his well-meaning way had helped. Dean needed to work through this in his own time. It wasn’t his first corpse—he’d seen so much death as a hunter, people they hadn’t been able to save—but this was his first instance of a death that he would feel had been caused by his actions. He was blameless, but to him, the fact he had been the one to exorcise the demon would feel like fault. It had to her.

She walked after him and caught him in a hug. For a moment he was stiff in her arms, but then he relaxed and held her in return.

For a long moment, Mary clutched her son, offering comfort, and then, as they broke apart, Dean cleared his throat roughly and said, “I’m going to call Sammy, tell him it’s over.”

“Yes,” Mary said eagerly, feeling guilty that she hadn’t thought of it herself. “You do that.”

Dean took his phone from his pocket and opened the door to talk to his brother in private, but before he could step outside, Mary heard the sound of an engine pulling up.

Ellen and Bill exchanged a worried look and Mary rushed to the door, hoping against hope that it was a hunter that was coming back to check on them, not someone that would see the dead body tied to the chair and not understand the circumstances.

Dean sighed with relief, and Mary imitated him as she saw Bobby climbing out of his Chevelle.

“Is it over?” Bobby asked, his eyes tight with worry as he stepped into the light streaming from the open bar door.

“How did you know?” Dean asked.

“Sam called. He told me what he saw.”

There was a soft gasp behind them, and Mary turned to see Ellen’s wide-eyed shock and Bill’s tension. “What Sam _saw_?” he asked.

Mary looked back at Bobby, seeing his repentant expression and worried eyes. She sighed heavily and said, “Yeah. Okay. I guess we should talk.”


	7. Chapter 7

_Mary sighed heavily and said, “Yeah. Okay. I guess we should talk.”_

“Yes. We should,” Ellen agreed solemnly.

“It can wait a minute,” Dean interrupted. “I’m calling Sam first. He needs to know it’s over. Kid’s probably going out of his mind alone.” He was also going to get Sam’s permission to tell Ellen and Bill his secret. It was his right to choose who knew.

“Of course,” Ellen said. “We can wait.”

Dean stepped around Bobby and went to lean against the Impala. Bobby slipped into the bar and the door closed behind him.

Dean dialed Sam’s number, then listened as it rang once and was soon answered with a rush of words. _“Dean! Is it over? Did you stop her?”_

“It’s over, Sammy,” Dean said soothingly. “We stopped her.”

_“Are you okay? Was anyone hurt?”_

“We’re all fine.”

He didn’t want to tell Sam that the demon had him by the throat. It barely hurt anymore, and he didn’t think it was going to bruise. Sam would worry, knowing as well as Dean that the demon could have crushed his windpipe with a twitch of her fingers, or snapped his neck with a quick jerk of her hand. Everything they’d read about demons meant that Dean was aware of just how lucky he was not to have been hurt worse. If the demon had gone for the kill instead of the hurt, it would have ended for him there.

Sam didn’t need to know that. He did need to know that they were about to expose his secret to Ellen and Bill, though.

“Look, Sammy, Ellen and Bill heard enough to know there’s more to this than we said. Bobby let it slip that you _saw_ what was going to happen. We should give them the full story. I’ll make sure no one tells them anything you don’t want them to hear, though. It’s your choice all the way.”

Sam’s sigh crackled the line, and he sounded exhausted as he said, _“Tell them whatever you like. I don’t care.”_

“Are you okay?” Dean asked, concern coloring his tone.

“_No,_” Sam said. “_I’m really not. This thing, whatever it is that makes me see these visions, is wrong. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m scared, Dean_.”

Dean’s heart ached and he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Sammy. We’ll figure it out, I promise. You don’t need to be scared.”

_“If you’d been just a little later…”_ Sam said dejectedly. _“If I’d not seen it in time, they would have all died.” _

“But they didn’t. Everyone is safe.”

_“Yeah, I know. But they might not have been.”_

Dean could hear the fear in his brother’s voice and he grappled for something to say to reassure him, to ease what he was feeling, but Sam spoke again before he could, and Dean recognized the dismissal.

_“You should go talk to Ellen and Bill. There’s no need to keep them waiting.”_

“Get some sleep,” Dean urged. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

_“Yeah, sure. Bye, Dean.”_

Dean started to say his own farewell, but Sam had already hung up.

Dean could clearly imagine the look of anguish on his brother’s face as he sat alone in that motel room, thinking over what he’d seen and what could have happened, and he felt the urge to get into the car he leaned against and drive back to him now. But he knew he had a responsibility to Ellen and Bill, and Sam. They needed to know the truth, and Sam needed him to be a part of telling it, to gauge their reactions and defend his brother if it was required. He didn’t like to think he would need to—Ellen and Bill were good people—but this was something big to hear, and they would at least be shocked.

He pushed away from the car, then stopped as the door opened and Bill backed out, carrying the feet of the woman that had been the demon’s meatsuit. Bobby followed, holding her shoulders, and said, “Get the back of my car open, Dean.”

Dean hurried to obey and stepped back as Bobby and Bill eased the woman onto the back seat. Dean turned away from the sight, hating the visual evidence of what the demon had done, what _he_ had done. He knew on an intellectual level that he’d freed her and not killed her with his exorcism, but it was hard to forget that only half an hour ago she had been walking and talking until he’d chanted that carefully memorized Latin.

He heard the door slam closed and then felt an arm on his shoulder. “I’m going to get her away from here and then call it in so she’ll be found,” Bobby said. “She’ll get back to her people. They’ll take care of her.”

Dean nodded. “Thanks, Bobby.”

“And we’re going to talk,” Bill said pointedly.

“Not till I get back,” Bobby said curtly. “This is a family story, and I want to be a part of it. I won’t be gone long.”

He climbed into the Chevelle and turned the engine over. Dean watched him drive away and took a breath before following Bill into the bar.

Mary and Ellen were putting the place back in order, moving the tables to their usual positions in the middle of the room from where they’d been shunted aside to make room for the devil’s trap. Dean grabbed a couple of chairs and helped them while Bill went behind the bar and gathered glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He lifted the bottle and raised an eyebrow as he looked at Dean.

“I’ll stick with a beer, thanks,” Dean said.

As much as he thought this conversation was going to need easing with a drink, he wanted to be able to drive back to Lawrence as soon as it was done, and he wasn’t risking that with real liquor in him. Mary had drilled that kind of safety-conscious thinking into him and Sam at an early age.

Bill nodded and stole a beer from the fridge, took off the top, and brought it to a table in the corner where Mary and Ellen were just settling themselves. Ellen set out the glasses for herself, Bill, Bobby and Mary, and Bill poured a measure into each.

Mary knocked hers back quickly and held the glass out for another, which Bill supplied.

The sight of his mother knocking back the whiskey was an unusual one. Though it was Bobby’s drink of choice, Mary usually stuck with a beer. It was a sign of just how stressed she was.

“We’re waiting for Bobby to get back before we talk about it,” Dean said. Mary nodded, though Ellen looked a little put out. Dean knew it wasn’t selfish curiosity that he was seeing. She was concerned, but it still made him look away and take a deep breath. 

“How’s Sam?” Mary asked, her eyes worried as she watched Dean consider his answer.

“Freaked, scared, exhausted,” Dean said honestly. “About what you’d expect.”

Mary patted his hand where it rested on the table top and said, “We’ll be there soon, and then we can both take care of him.”

Dean smiled and tried to look reassured, but inwardly he was thinking of how little help they were going to be to Sam. They had no more experience with this than he did, and they weren’t the ones seeing these things. Sam was bearing that alone, having those dreams and feeling that fear. The fear they felt for him was nothing in comparison. 

Perhaps Mary was aware of what Dean was feeling as she directed her next words, a distraction, to Bill. “That demon knew you. Have you seen her before?”

“She knew you, too,” Bill pointed out.

“I know,” Mary said quietly, a shadow of something undefinable crossing her face. “I didn’t know her, though. Did you?”

Dean had heard what the demon said, too, and was curious about how it knew his mother and what it had meant when it said she was one of the ‘bosses’ chosen,’ but he didn’t want to push her for more in front of Ellen and Bill. If she wanted the two of them to know the connection, if she even knew herself, she would tell them. But she could choose who to tell, and she obviously didn’t want to talk about it right now.

“Yes,” Bill said. “But I didn’t know what she was then. I was taking a demon hunt in Iowa when I stopped in a bar one night. She, the demon, propositioned me. I thought she was just a persistent hooker. I don’t know if that’s why she came here—I wasn’t exactly kind when I refused her—or if she tagged me as a hunter, but it obviously put me on her radar.”

“She could have just followed you back and seen the bar,” Ellen said. “It was an opportunity for her to take out a lot of hunters in one go. We’d make a good target. That’s why we have so much protection laid down.”

“Maybe,” Bill said thoughtfully. “Luckily, she was stopped.”

Ellen shuddered. “Thank god she was. And we’re damn grateful.” She looked at Mary. “However it happened, we all owe you our lives.”

“It was Sam,” Mary said quietly. “He’s the one you have to thank.”

“And we will,” Ellen said.

“Maybe give it a little time,” Dean said quickly, thinking the last thing Sam needed was to see Ellen and Bill right now. To see anyone at all would probably be too much for him, the way he was feeling. 

“Have you found anything about the Colt?” Bill asked curiously.

“I found a hunter who thought they saw it,” Dean said, thankful for the change of topic. “He wrote about it in his journal. It was from around the turn of the last century, so it’s out there.”

“You hope,” Ellen said.

“Yes,” Mary said softly. “We hope.” She looked at Ellen with tired, sad eyes. “All we’ve got is hope at this point.”

“We’ve not heard anything,” Bill said. “We’ve not had many people come by that we can ask, but I put a call out to a couple people, and Daniel Elkins was in. He’s not a believer.”

Dean sighed. He was sure they would have called if they’d had news, but it was still a blow to hear there was nothing. There seemed to be endless journals to read, and though he believed it was real after seeing that one specific entry, they had no more of an idea where it was now than they’d had at the beginning. Each day it took them to find it was another day in which the demon could strike.

The door opened and Bobby came in, his expression grave. Bill quickly slid his whiskey over to him as he sat down beside Mary, patting her shoulder. She forced a smile for him, and he took a sip of his drink before pushing it away, saying, “You waited?”

“Yes,” Ellen said. “But you’re here now, so let’s talk.”

Bill placed a hand on Ellen’s arm and addressed Mary. “We don’t want to push, as this is obviously hard for you, but we care about Sam, too, and we need to understand how he managed to save our lives tonight.”

Mary drew in a deep breath, and then faltered. She looked imploringly at Dean. He wasn’t used to her showing weakness like this—she was always so strong. He squeezed her hand and nodded. “I’ll do it.”

Mary gave him a grateful smile, and Dean shifted uncomfortably as all eyes found his face and the air became tense with anticipation.

“Sam saw what was coming in a dream,” he said. “He has dreams that come true. This is the third.”

Ellen gasped, putting a hand to her mouth as if to stifle the sound, as Mary winced.

“He has visions?” Bill asked.

“Yeah, I guess,” Dean said thoughtfully. He’d never thought of them like that. Even with what Missouri had said about Sam’s potential power, Dean had never considered it in basic terms before. Sam had visions. He was psychic just like she was. This wasn’t just dreams. It was a psychic gift.

“Yes,” Bobby said. “He saw his girlfriend die before it happened, and he saw one of his friends get stabbed by a junkie that was trying to mug him. You know that Jess died, but Dean was able to get there in time to save his friend.”

“It’s so hard for him, though,” Mary said quietly. “These dreams hurt him—actual, physical pain as well as the emotional part of what he’s seeing. He’s traumatized.”

“This must be so hard for you,” Ellen said, fixing her sad eyes on Mary.

“For all of you,” Bill added, glancing between Dean and Bobby.

“It’s worse for him,” Dean said quickly.

He understood what Ellen was saying. She was a mother and could understand how it would feel to see someone you loved suffering, and Bill was right—it was hard for all of them—but they weren’t the ones in pain because of it. They weren’t the ones with the burden of this power on them. They just had to witness the aftermath; Sam had to live it.

Mary inhaled a deep breath. “We don’t want anyone else knowing about this. It’s just us and Missouri Mosley that know about him now. I don’t want this spreading among hunters. If someone like Gordon finds out…”

She didn’t need to say more. Gordon wouldn’t physically harm Sam—he was still a hunter and Sam was human—but he would be hard on him. He would make sure the story was spread, and Sam would be distrusted by other hunters that feared that kind of power. Sam didn’t need that.

“We won’t tell another soul,” Ellen promised.

“Is there some way we can help?” Bill asked.

“I don’t think so,” Dean said. “It feels like there’s nothing any of us can do for him, and believe me, we’re trying.”

Bobby shook his head slowly. “Maybe there’s something. It’s not even been 2 months since Jessica died, and Sam has had two other visions since. If he sees something else, something we can’t get to, it would be good if someone else could take it. We can’t ask anyone else without telling them why we know about it but, Bill, if you could be ready for it?”

“Of course,” Bill said. “Anything he sees, tell me. I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Thank you,” Mary said, her voice steeped in gratitude.

“I’m not sure what I can do, though,” Bill said. “It seems these things are connected to Sam. You might be in a better position to help.”

Bobby frowned, but Dean understood. He raked a hand over his face, wondering why he hadn’t realized it before. Sam wasn’t seeing danger to strangers. It was _his _girlfriend, _his _best friend, Ellen and Bill whom _he_ loved, that had been in danger. Somehow Sam’s dreams were connected to people he knew.

“Of course,” Mary said with dawning realization. “They’re all people he knows. And it’s all real danger. Jess died and Brady would have. You all would have been killed if he’d not seen this coming.”

“It’s a lot of danger for a short period of time, too,” Ellen pointed out. “You said the friend was going to be stabbed by a junkie, and it was a demon that came for us and his girlfriend, but this was all within 2 months. It’s all so unlikely.”

“You think there’s more to it?” Dean asked. “Like these things are happening for a reason?”

“Maybe,” Bill said, rubbing his chin. “We’ve had this place since before Jo was born, and the worst we’ve had before was a demon trying to get in after Tim and his crew—one that was trapped and exorcized, too. We’ve always known we were a target, that’s why we’re careful, but this demon came _now_, and Sam saw it coming. There’s a connection there between us and his girlfriend that’s not just Sam.”

“Demons,” Bobby whispered. “Why didn’t we see it?”

“The girl that attacked Brady, Dean, are you sure she was just a junkie?”

Dean ran his mind back over the fight. He had pinned her, which he shouldn’t have been able to do if it was a demon, but she had been strong—much stronger than she should have been for her size. He’d assumed it was some PCP thing. It was possible she had been a demon.

“She was strong,” he admitted. “Really strong.”

“She could have been possessed,” Mary said, her voice strained. “We need to know for sure. If Sam is seeing things linked to demons, it could get worse. If this is happening for a reason, if the demon is doing these things on purpose, if it wants him to see them…”

“It really could be why it came for him in the first place,” Bobby finished for her, his hands fisting. “Balls.”

“We have to go,” Dean said. “Now!” In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to be with his brother. He needed to be close to him to calm his own mind.

“We’re going,” Mary said, getting quickly to her feet and calling over her shoulder, “Thank you, Bill!”

Dean rushed to the door and outside to the car. He climbed in behind the wheel and tapped his hands against his legs as he waited for Mary to get in. When she was sitting beside him, he turned the ignition and slammed the car into gear.

“Bobby’s coming with us,” Mary said tersely. “He wants to see Sam.”

“Good,” Dean approved. He was thinking of the added layer of support Bobby could offer for Sam.

If Bill’s theory was right and people close to Sam were being targeted because of him, he was going to have to deal with even more guilt. He was blameless, as it was all down to the demon orchestrating this, but Sam wasn’t going to see that.

He would blame himself.


	8. Chapter 8

It was the early hours of the morning when Sam heard the rumble of the Impala’s engine; he breathed a sigh of relief and downed the last mouthful of his coffee. The pot was empty again, and he didn’t think he would get away with making more that night. His family wouldn’t like him caffeinating himself through the night to avoid the dreams.

He was surprised to hear a second engine pulling into the parking lot, too, but then recognised it and realized he should have expected Bobby to come with them. He’d called him almost as soon as Mary and Dean had left, wanting to add another fighter to the cause, and Bobby hadn’t asked a single question after Sam had told him what he’d seen; he’d just promised Sam he’d get there and take care of them. Sam had known that might not be a promise he could keep as there was no way of knowing how it was going to end for them, but he’d been grateful for it.

He’d sat for the first few hours after Dean and Mary left in a state of almost crippling anxiety. It’d been him that sent them into danger, and it was only the knowledge that he would put them at risk if he was there that stopped him jumping into the Jeep and following them. Dean had been right, though. Sam was in no state for a fight, and they would be distracted looking after him. They needed all their attention on the demon.

The relief he’d felt when Dean had called was exquisite. They’d gotten there in time, they’d stopped the demon, and they were all okay. It could’ve ended with the many deaths of the people Sam cared about; he could’ve lost his whole family.

These dreams scared him. The pain of them and the things he saw were awful, but so much worse was the fact it was people he loved that he had to send into the fight to stop them from becoming reality. Now that he felt what it was to love again, it seemed to have intensified past anything he’d ever felt before. His mother, Dean and Bobby were the most important people in his world, and he was putting them at risk with these dreams.

The door opened and Dean rushed in. Sam leapt to his feet, and as Dean threw his arms around him and hugged him tight, Sam could feel his heart racing. Sam held him back, a flicker of fear in his chest. What was this reaction for? He hadn’t been the one in danger. They’d faced a demon. All Sam had done was wait to see if they lived through it or not.

Dean pulled away and held the back of Sam’s head, looking him in the eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked fervently.

Sam nodded. “Are you?”

“We’re all fine,” Dean said, releasing him and stepping back as Mary took his place and pulled Sam into a tight hug.

Sam felt more awkward with her embrace. He couldn’t help but think of what this new dream could mean to her. If he was right that her support of his visions was born out of a desire to protect him rather than what she wanted for him, this would have been so much harder for her—more evidence of what he was now. She would know now that he was even more of a freak.

Mary moved back, her expression troubled. Sam wondered if it was because she had sensed his discomfort, or if it was because she was holding the son that was already so much different from what he used to be, knowing that it was getting worse, not better.

Bobby closed the door behind him and said, “Beers?”

“Fridge,” Dean answered, perching on the edge of his bed.

Sam sat down in the chair he’d been in for hours again, hoping the uncomfortable arrangement would keep the tiredness at bay. 

Mary sat at the table opposite Sam, and Bobby handed around beers before sitting beside Dean on the bed.

“What happened to the demon?” Sam asked.

“We got her trapped, and Dean exorcized it,” Mary said, smiling at her eldest son. “He did it perfectly.”

“Did she say anything about why she was there?” Sam asked, wondering if this was an act of senseless violence or if the residents of The Roadhouse would be in danger from more of her kind.

Dean shifted uncomfortably. “Bill had met her before, and he thinks he offended her, so that might be why…”

“But?” Sam asked, sensing the unspoken word in the air.

Mary reached across the table and held Sam’s hand. He had to fight the urge to pull away from her, to distance himself from the comfort he couldn’t help but question. Two months ago, he would’ve never doubted how much Mary loved him or that she had never questioned who he was, but that time had come and gone. Now he was sure of nothing.

“Bill had a theory that we need to explore,” Mary said gently.

Sam felt his stomach plummet. He already knew this theory was going to be another check in the box that made him the freak. “What is it?”

Dean cleared his throat and spoke in an apologetic tone. “It’s just…two of the things you saw were connected to demons, and we think maybe the attack on Brady might be, too. The girl that came after him was stronger than she should have been. We think she might have been possessed.”

Sam bowed his head and squeezed his eyes closed. If Bethan had been possessed, it meant that ordeal was more than a drug addict needing a fix. It was a targeted attack on someone Sam cared about, just like Jessica and the residents of The Roadhouse. He was the connection between them all. Go back further, and it was John’s death, too. He now knew that, if the demon was coming for him as they suspected, it was going to go through the people he loved to get him.

“It’s because of me,” Sam said, unable to hide the horror in his voice. “Jess and Dad died because he came for me. He went after Brady, Ellen, Bill and Jo because of me, too. I’m the one doing this.”

“You’re not!” Dean’s words were spoken firmly, though his face was tormented. “If you are the connection, it’s because the demon wants you to see these things. You’re not making anything happen. This isn’t your fault.”

“Feels like it,” Sam said, looking helplessly into his brother’s eyes. “What am I supposed to do?”

“We need to know for sure if that girl was possessed,” Bobby said. “If she wasn’t, then it was just a coincidence and we don’t need to worry about why the demons are doing it. Do you have this girl’s number?”

Sam shook his head. “We weren’t really friends. I just knew her. Becky didn’t write her number down.” He patted his pockets and then spotted his phone on the bedside table. “Brady will have it, though.”

Dean passed him his phone without pointing out the fact it was too late to make calls without waking Brady. Sam knew it was because Dean needed the answer as much as he did—as much as they all did. 

Sam pulled up the number and dialled, hitting speaker as he waited for it to ring through. He didn’t expect Brady to answer the first time since it was so early, but Sam was also prepared to keep calling until he did. He was surprised when Brady answered, sounding wide-awake and hyped. “Sam! How’s it going?”

“Fine,” Sam said curtly. “I need a phone number.”

“Oh, okay. Whose do you need?”

“Bethan Turner.”

Brady whistled. “Wannabe-mugger Bethan? What do you need her for?”

“I just want to talk to her. Do you have her number?” He hoped as they shared habits that it was a number Brady would have collected.

“I do, but there’s not much point in me giving it to you. The girl’s in detox still, so they’re not going to be letting her take calls. Her folks put her in some Arizona clinic after what happened. I know I can’t judge, but that girl must have been taking something pretty potent as she’s completely lost the plot.”

Sam’s stomach clenched. “What do you mean?”

“Well she’s got this crazy defense for what she did. I get drug crazes better than most, and I’ve blacked out plenty, but she’s saying she was forced to do it by someone else.”

Mary covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a gasp, and Dean’s eyes bugged. Bobby just nodded as if he’d been expecting the answer.

“Who made her do it?” Sam asked, his voice coming out strangled around the knot of fear in his throat.

“Get this. She says her body was taken over by some kind of monster. That she was choked by some black smoke, and then it somehow took control and made her do it. Crazy, right?”

“Yeah, crazy,” Sam murmured, feeling his heart thrumming hard in his chest. “I need to go, Brady. I’ll call you soon.”

“Oh, okay, sure. Look, I’m at my parents’ place for the holidays, but I’m back in class in the new year. We had a long talk about it, and if I pick up where I was and steer clear of the drugs, they’re not going to force me into rehab. Are you coming back?”

Sam hadn’t considered college since he’d woken up in the hospital, but he knew that it was completely off the table now until the demon was stopped. He couldn’t put more people at risk by being close to them. It was bad enough that his family were in danger. They were at least hunters able to protect themselves.

“No,” he said firmly. “College is out.”

Mary sucked in another breath, and Sam guessed she was tallying up yet another thing that had changed in him compared to who she’d always known him to be. Dean was the hunter. Sam was the wannabe-lawyer, getting good grades and acing LSAT’s. At least he had been. Now he was the freaky psychic that was putting the people he cared about in danger.

“Aw, man, that sucks. I guess it makes sense. You do what you’ve gotta do. College will be waiting for you when you’re ready to come back. And we’ll all do what we can for you. I’ll tell the others I spoke to you. Maybe you can give Becky a call. She’s worried but didn’t want to push.”

“Okay,” Sam said vaguely. “I’ll call her. Thanks, Brady.”

“You know I didn’t actually do anything, right?” Brady asked.

“You helped more than you realize,” Sam said. “See you.” He hung up before Brady could answer and set the phone down, then gripped the edge of the table with shaking hands.

“Sammy…” Dean said quietly.

Sam drew in a deep breath through his nose and said, “It is me. They’re coming after people around me. They know I’m seeing it, and they want it.” He winced. “The demon knows I’m…psychic.”

He hated to use the word, but he knew it was the right one now. He was psychic. He had visions. And that was what the demon wanted from him. It was that power that brought the yellow-eyed demon into his nursery the night he killed John, and it was why it had come back for Jessica. Did it want Sam to see Jessica dying so it had made it happen, or was that trauma what had made him so much more powerful? He didn’t feel the grief, but it could have been enough to push what was already there to this level. He would have to ask Missouri about it. She would know. 

“We’re going to fix this, Sam,” Mary soothed.

“How?” Sam asked. “What can you do? I’m the one that has to do this. I have to take control of it and learn how to use these powers. I’ve seen it coming three times now, but what if I miss it next time? I have to train them.”

“You’re already doing that though, aren’t you?” Bobby asked.

“I’m trying,” Sam said, knowing that wasn’t the full truth. He realized it was time for honesty, and not just from him. “I’ve been scared to do everything Missouri wants me to do because when we tried, I touched the grief. We’ve been doing other things, trying other ways, but it’s not enough. I have to do everything she says now. I have to make myself stronger.” He forced himself to look his mother in the eye. “Can you handle that?”

She frowned. “I will do whatever you need me to do, Sam. I just want you to be safe. I only care that you can handle it.”

Sam shook his head. “Then, if it’s not that I am a freak, what are you hiding from me?”

Mary’s eyes widened as she bit her lip, and though Sam didn’t look at them, he could feel Bobby and Dean’s eyes on him.

“You’re not a freak, Sammy,” Dean said harshly.

“Mom?” Sam pressed, ignoring his brother. “What are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything, I promise.”

Sam shook his head. His mother had never lied to him before, but she must be now. He tried to relax himself to see her aura, but he couldn’t manage it. He was too tensed up by what he’d heard. He thought he saw a shimmer of muddy pink around her, but it was probably just his imagination.

“Why do you think your mom is hiding something?” Bobby asked.

“Her aura,” Sam said. “Dean’s is blue, and that fits who he is, but Mom’s is muddy pink, and that means lies and dishonesty.”

Mary’s eyes became wet. Sam stared at her, waiting for her to finally admit what she was trying to hide from him—what had made her lie to him for the first time since he’d found out the truth of the world—but she didn’t speak.

“It’s not just lies though, is it?” Bobby said.

Sam looked away from his mother at last and saw the relieved smile on Bobby’s face.

“I know auras,” Bobby went on. “Pamela was trying to clue me into them once. It’s one of those things anyone should be able to learn if they can reach that kind of connection to their senses, but I couldn’t nail it down. I studied the colors, though. You’re right, Sam.” He smiled slightly. “Blue is right for Dean, but the color you’re seeing on your mom means more than just what you think. It can be immaturity, too.”

The relief Sam had begun to feel at Bobby’s explanation was swept away and he was back to confused. His mom was fifty-one years old. She was an experienced hunter, a mother, a professional. She was the furthest thing from immature he’d ever known.

“She’s not immature,” he continued doggedly.

“I am in this,” Mary said, wiping at her wet eyes and rubbing her hands on her pant leg. “I don’t understand what’s happening to you, Sam, and I’m scared for you. I’m your mom. I should be able to protect you, but I can’t from this. All I can do is try as hard as I can to find a way to stop the demon from coming for you. I have never felt more immature in the face of something in my life.” She stared into his eyes, seeming to be begging him for understanding. “I’m not lying to you.”

Sam saw her devastation and need, then nodded. He felt guilty for even thinking that in the first place. He should have known better than to believe she’d lie to him. He should have kept looking for an explanation for what he’d seen in her aura. He’d accepted the first thing he’d read, and it had made him betray her. All this time he’d been defending himself from her, hating that she was judging him, and all along it had just been her love.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I should have known better.”

“You should,” Bobby agreed. “But we all make mistakes. And you’re dealing with so much right now, Sam, it’s no wonder you’re getting wires crossed. What matters is that we deal with what’s happening now. You’re willing to try whatever Missouri suggests to build up these powers?”

“Yes. I don’t want to—it scares me, even—but I have to. It’s the only way I’m going to be able to protect other people. I know this is what the demon wants from me, but there’s no other way.”

Bobby nodded. “Good. And we’ll keep looking for the Colt. We’re going to find a way to stop it. You just have to be strong until then. And keep watching.” He gave the empty mug in front of Sam a pointed look. “And you need to sleep.”

“I know,” Sam sighed. He was going to be even more scared of sleep now that he knew who the targets of what he was seeing were, but he was going to do what he could to make himself strong.

Dean cleared his throat and said, “Is this what the demon meant, Mom?”

Sam frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

Dean shot Mary and apologetic look. “She said Mom was one of the ‘boss’ chosen.’”

Mary swallowed hard and looked down at her clasped hands for a moment before saying, “I think it must be. I didn’t understand it, but now I think the demon must have seen me with Sam before it came to Sam’s nursery. Maybe, as the mother of someone with what it wanted, it marked me as chosen.”

“So it’s not just me it wants,” Sam concluded, an icy finger of fear running down his back. “It’s coming for you?”

“No,” Mary said sadly. “I don’t think so. I wish it was, that I could be the one it wanted instead of you, but it’s not. I just happened to have a son with a gift. I don’t know what it needs your gift for, but…” She shivered. “It’s never going to get it, I swear. We’re all going to protect you.”

Sam processed her words and felt the tightness of fear in his gut relax. It didn’t want her, it wanted him. He was scared for himself and what was coming when the demon decided it needed him to do more than see, but he was relieved it wasn’t coming for his mother.

“Okay,” he said. “If I’m going to Missouri later, I need to sleep now. I want to be able to actually do this.”

“Of course,” Mary said. “Get some rest, both of you. Bobby, I’ve got a couch in my room if you want to stay.”

“I think there was a light on in the office,” Bobby said. “If they’ve got a nightshift, I’ll get myself a room. If not, then I’ll take your couch. I’ll have to go home later to finish up with the mini-van, but we’ll work out what happens next afterwards. I could come back here?”

“We’ll work it out,” Mary said, getting to her feet. She hugged Sam and kissed his forehead, then Dean’s, and followed Bobby out of the room.

When the door had clicked closed behind them, Dean said, “You okay, Sammy?”

Sam considered his answer, before finally replying honestly. “I’m scared that more people are going to be hurt because of me, that we might be too late next time, but I feel better now that I know what it is. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Dean said with a small smile. “It does. I feel the same. At least we know what we’re working with. And it’s not your life the demon wants. It’s your gift.”

Sam snorted. “Gift?”

Dean shrugged. “Gift, curse, whatever you want to call it. That’s what the demon wants. Not to kill you. I know this is still a nightmare, but I’m damned relieved it’s not coming to kill you.” He came to Sam and tugged him to his feet, then hugged him tight. “We are going to protect you, Sammy.”

Sam smiled. “I know.”

Dean reached up and tousled his hair. “Come on. Get your ass into bed. You know Bobby’s going to want an early breakfast, and Missouri’s going to be waiting for you.”

Sam grabbed his sleep clothes out of his duffel and carried them into the bathroom to clean up and change.

He really did feel better. He had a plan. He feared what he was going to feel when he went to Missouri’s and what they did there, but it was for a better reason than to protect himself now. This was bigger than just him and his family. It was everyone he knew and cared about.

His family would protect him, and he would protect them in turn.


	9. Chapter 9

As soon as Missouri opened the door to Sam the next morning, her bright smile became a frown and she said, “Oh. Yes. Coffee.”

Sam figured he looked worse than he felt. The night of caffeine and tension had allowed for only a few scant hours sleep which had left him in a nervy mess. He didn’t think he was going to be in a good state to meditate or anything else Missouri wanted from him, but he was going to try hard anyway.

The mission to tap into his powers had a new sense of urgency now. It was more than something to do for his own protection; it was about saving others he cared about.

He followed her into the house, closing the door behind himself, and then into the kitchen where he leaned against the counter as she started to fill the coffee pot.

“What happened?” she asked curiously.

“I had another dream.”

Missouri gasped and she quickly turned to him. “What did you see?”

Sam concentrated on not shuddering as he remembered the screams of pain and the smell of smoke and worse from his vision. “Some friends of ours have a bar that’s used by a lot of hunters. I saw a demon burn it to the ground with them all inside. It was…” He shook his head. “It was horrible.”

Missouri reached out a hand to him and then dropped it to her side again. “I’m sorry.”

“Mom and Dean got there in time to save them,” he went on. “No one was hurt. But it was close. I _have_ to take control of this. You need to help me.”

Missouri turned back to the counter and took two mugs from a rack and set them down, her movements swift and graceful. “I’ve been trying,” she pointed out.

“I know, and I’m grateful, really, but I’m not fighting this anymore. I will deal with whatever else comes. If I have to feel my grief to master it, I will. I can’t risk missing something. We know why I’m seeing it now.”

Missouri frowned. “We’ve always known.”

“No, I mean we know why I am seeing _these_ things. It’s because the demon is making them happen. Jessica was killed by him, the girl that tried to mug my friend was possessed, and we think the demon last night was there on his orders. It came for me when I was a baby as it somehow saw what I was going to be, like you did, and then…” He sighed. “Jessica died, Brady would have, a whole bar full of good people would have been killed last night because it wanted _me_ to see. If it does it again, I have to see it coming as soon as I can. And maybe if it sees I’m stronger, that I have control, it will stop doing this.”

“But what happens when you are strong enough?” Missouri asked, her eyes narrowed. “Do you think it will come for you?”

Sam managed to keep his expression smooth. “I think it’s going to come for me when it’s ready whether I am or not.”

“Are you scared?” Missouri asked.

“Yes,” Sam said honestly. “But I’m more scared that it will come for my family first.”

Missouri sighed and averted her eyes. “I understand that. No one else knows this, not even my son, James, but my husband died because he was protecting me. I had been out of the life a while, not hunting since James was born, but Richard found a vampire nest and he needed backup. He called in a friend of ours, Daniel Elkins. Your mother knows him. He’s a good hunter.”

She ran pressed her fingers to her lips, and Sam could see she was shaking.

“You don’t have to tell me, Missouri,” he said quickly, wanting to wash the look of pain from her face.

“I think I do,” she said quietly and then began her story. “Richard and Daniel had gone and I was here with James when I had a vision of Daniel getting killed. We had no cell phones back then, so all I could do was go in person to save them. I left James with a neighbor and drove to Gardner where the hunt was. I found the nest and raced in without thinking. Daniel was unconscious and bleeding on the ground with the bodies and heads of three vampires, but Richard was fighting two others. Perhaps they saw me as an easier target, perhaps it was the other way around because I was armed and Richard had lost his machete, but they attacked me instead. They both set upon me, and one of them had their teeth in me.”

She tugged away the scarf she was wearing and Sam saw the lines of a scar on the side of her neck. He felt sickened at the sight of it, and surprised that someone could have been bitten there and lived. <strike></strike>

Seeing his shock, she smiled slightly and nodded. “I was going to die, but Richard saved me. I couldn’t do the same for him. He pulled off the vampire that was feeding from me, and killed it, but… I don’t know if he forgot about the second or if he was just distracted by the fact I was bleeding so much, but he came to me instead of killing the vampire, and…” She put a hand to her throat. “I passed out. The next thing I know, Daniel is lifting me up and carrying me outside. I asked for Richard, and he told me he was sorry. I fought, and he let me go. I was bleeding so much, so weak, but I got back into that house and saw my husband on the floor with the bodies of those vampires. They had bitten right though his jugular. He didn’t stand a chance. I don’t remember anything else before I woke up in the hospital.”

There was a moment of silence between them, only broken by the spitting and gurgling of the coffee maker as it finished its brew. 

“It’s ready,” Missouri said, reaching for the pot.

Sam caught her hand and held it between her own. “It wasn’t your fault, Missouri,” he said seriously. “You went there to save a life.”

“And I cost one. It was Daniel I saw die, not James. Perhaps he would have been able to fight them off and win. It was because I was there that it ended the other way. I stopped the vampires killing Daniel, but I couldn’t stop them killing the man I loved, my son’s father.”

Sam shook his head, grappling for the right words to make her see the truth. She had been trying to save a life.

Missouri pulled her hand free and poured two mugs of coffee. “So, you see, I do understand how it feels for you. You are scared that it’s going to cost your family’s lives to save you. That is the worst kind of fear.” She handed him his drink and said, “Let’s go sit down,”

Sam followed her into the living room and sat down on the couch. Missouri took her usual spot in the armchair and set down her drink.

Sam sipped at his own for something to do. It burned his tongue, and he winced and put it on the table.

“What are you going to do to save them?” Missouri asked shrewdly. “Do you have a plan?”

The truth was, Sam didn’t anymore. He had thought if he started training again, learned to be a hunter properly, he could be an asset when these visions came. He could be the one to save lives, not needing to send his family in his place. But Missouri’s story made him see that it was probably better for him not to be there at all.

Dean had said he would distract them, and he was right. Mary had been hunting most of her life. Dean had been for almost ten years. They were both so good at what they did because they were trained and experienced. Sam would need more time than he had to become competent, let alone someone that could really save lives and face the demons he would be fighting. He could exorcise, but he would have to trap them first. That might not be enough.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I hate that they have to be the ones to stop these things happening, but I know I can’t do it alone, and if I go with them, I’m putting them at risk.”

“You have to trust them,” she said. “You’re right. You can’t be the one to do this alone, and you can’t go with them. The only way for them to be protected is if you stop.”

“But the demon could come for me,” Sam said. “They’ll fight for me then, and the demon has no reason to keep them alive. They’re not the psychic it needs.”

“Then you train yourself,” Missouri stated. “You have _so _much potential, Sam. You can take control and maybe use these powers to defend yourself and them. I don’t know everything you’re capable of, but I can see glimmers of it.”

“What can you see?” Sam asked with trepidation, not sure he wanted to know.

“I can’t control my visions properly. I can only see what’s sent to me and what is available when I search, but I believe telekinesis is something you could master if you tried. I have _seen_ a hint of that when I look for you.”

Sam frowned. “Move things with my mind, the way demons can throw people around?”

She nodded. “Do you see how helpful that would be to trap a demon and exorcise it?”

“Yes,” Sam said quietly.

His mind was reeling with the possibility and warring with itself. Part of him, the unselfish part that just wanted to protect his family, was eager to try, to master what he was capable of and to be able to use it against demons. The smaller, more selfish part was horrified at the idea of him using his mind to do that. It was so much worse than visions. It was the kind of thing Gordon Walker and the people that shared his views would see as truly inhuman. He felt the same himself. Normal people couldn’t do things like that, humans couldn’t. Was he less than human if he could, or was that his fear of being a freak talking? He couldn’t be sure.

What he did know was that he didn’t have the freedom to be selfish anymore. This was about saving the lives of the people he loved above all else. Perhaps if he was strong enough, he would be able to beat the yellow-eyed demon himself. He could hold it and exorcise it. If they found the Colt, he could hold it while Mary or Dean took the shot. 

“How do I learn that?” he asked.

Missouri leaned forward in her seat and said, “Not from me. I will find you someone that can teach you, but it will take time. While I’m looking, we need to work on your visions. The better control you have of that, the easier it will be to control your other abilities. It’s all working the same muscles.” 

“Meditation?” He tried to look calm and accepting as he asked, but his back stiffened and the still healing muscle shot a dart of pain through him.

He had come to Missouri open and ready to do whatever she wanted, but faced with it, he was scared of the grief.

“It’s natural to be scared, Sam,” Missouri said gently. “Grief is a powerful and painful thing to experience.”

“I thought you weren’t reading my mind.” He couldn’t quite keep the note of accusation from his voice.

“I’m not, but your face is easy to read. You don’t need to be scared yet. I have an idea that I think will work without you needing to touch it. There is a fancy name for what I want to try, and people have written books on it, but I just call it searching.”

Sam frowned. “What does it mean?”

“We’re going to _search_ for the tells that come before your visions. I want you to try to relax, not too deeply, you don’t need to look far, and tell me about your visions.”

Sam sank back against the cushions and tried to relax his muscles and calm his breaths. “What do you want to know?

“How do you feel before they come?”

“I don’t feel anything,” Sam said quickly. “I’m asleep.”

“But before you go to sleep, is there anything then?”

Sam considered carefully, testing his memories. “I have a headache, but since we’ve been trying to work on them together, I’ve had a headache all the time.”

“Put yourself back where you were before the last vision. You were sleeping?”

“I was tired and my head was hurting when I got back, and I was stressed because of… stuff.” He didn’t want to tell her about the tension he had felt around Mary. He was ashamed of how he’d misread the situation and doubted her now. “I went to bed and fell asleep.”

“How did that feel, apart from your headache, what else was there?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do, you just can’t access it yet. We’ll get there. Imagine yourself there now. You’re lying on the bed. Is it comfortable? Are the curtains open or closed? Can you hear anything?”

Sam closed his eyes and searched back, before the conversation with his family and phone call with Brady that had revealed what they’d suspected about demons’ involvement in what he had been seeing, before the night he’d spent waiting for news of what was happening at The Roadhouse, he took himself to that bed and that moment.

“The bed is uncomfortable,” Sam said. “And the room is too warm, even though it’s freezing outside. I feel like I’m burning up. I’m lying on top of the covers. My head is throbbing, and the cars on the road outside are making it worse. I can hear raised voices in the room beside mine, people arguing, but it’s not Mom and Dean, so I’m not listening.”

“What else?” Missouri pressed. “What does your body feel like? Is there more pain?”

“Yes,” Sam said, remembering. “My back is hurting and there’s a prickling in my arm where I was burned.” He rubbed the scarred patch of skin under his shirt sleeve, feeling the bumps and ridges of the puckered skin.

“Good,” Missouri said. “And your eyes are closed?”

“Yes. No. They are closed, and then I hear a door slam so I open them. I am worried it’s Dean or Mom coming for me. A car starts and it’s not one of theirs, so I settle again.”

“While your eyes are open, what can you see?”

“The lamp,” Sam said, his voice coming slowly and carefully. He was not aware of the memory before he spoke it, but now he could see it again, remember what was strange about what he was seeing. “There is an aura around the lamp, like a white glow, even though it’s switched off. I close my eyes again and then…” He sighed heavily. “And then the vision starts.”

“Ignore the vision for now,” Missouri said. “Go back to how it felt before. You’re lying on the uncomfortable bed, you can hear the cars and people, you’re too warm, your arm is tingling…”

“It _is _tingling,” Sam said, rubbing at the scarred patch of skin again. “I can feel it.”

“Yes,” Missouri said, sounding pleased. “You’re there. What else do you feel.”

“No,” Sam said, rubbing the patch harder. “It’s tingling now, and my head…” He pressed his fingers to his temples. “My head aches.”

“Now, Sam, I want you to stay calm,” Missouri instructed. “You’re perfectly safe, and whatever you see, we are going to take care of it. Take a deep breath.”

“What’s happening?” Sam asked, his eyes flying open and his breaths coming quick.

“Breathe,” she soothed. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Is this…” Sam couldn’t finish the question before an ice pick pierced his skull and he moaned in pain as his eyes squinted closed. “My head,” he said, his voice strained. “Oh god, my head.”

His hands came up to cradle his temples and his eyes opened, only to squeeze shut again as the light blinded him. He felt sick and his head swam as if he was going to pass out.

“Go deeper,” Missouri urged.

“I can’t!” Sam moaned. “It hurts.”

“Take a breath and tell me what you see.”

Sam didn’t understand what she was saying, and he was on the point of telling her when the light behind his closed eyes was replaced with a glow and he opened them to find himself standing under the sun.

He was outside, standing on a gravel path under a brick arch that led into a vast garden that was peppered with tombstones and statues. He recognized the scene at once as he had been there recently for Jessica’s funeral.

He looked around and lurched to the side as two people walked right towards him. It was Becky, Jessica’s best friend, and her brother Zach. They passed him without casting him a sideways glance, focused on their destination. Sam stared at their backs, his heart pounding as he waited for the disaster to strike more of the people he cared about.

In Becky’s arms was a large wreath made of holly and laurel with pinecones attached by thin red ribbons. She was cradling it against her, and Zach’s hand was on the small of her back.

Sam rushed ahead of them and looked around, searching for the threat, but there was none. Apart from an elderly woman standing at one of the graves a short distance away, the cemetery was empty of all but them, and Sam knew he wasn’t really there.

He followed them as they walked across the grass towards the plot where they’d buried Jessica. There was no stone marker there yet, but someone had placed a wooden cross at the head of the grave with her name and date of birth and death on it.

Sam was scared to get too close in case it made him feel too much, but he needed to be near Becky and Zach in case something came for them. He had to see as much as he could so he could stop whatever it was happening when it did.

He was guiltily relived that, when he looked at Jessica’s grave and thought of what lay beneath the mound of earth, it didn’t hurt him. He was focused alone on Zach and Becky.

They had stopped beside the grave, and though neither of them was speaking, there was still comfort being offered. Zach was rubbing small circles on Becky’s back, and she was leaning against him.

Sam’s eyes roved around them, waiting for the demon to come, but the only movement was the elderly woman making slow progress toward the parking lot.

“Go ahead, Becks,” Zach said, drawing Sam’s attention back to them.

Becky nodded and squatted down beside the grave. She laid the wreath down, resting it against the cross, and then pressed a kiss to her hand and touched Jessica’s name on the inlaid plaque. “Hey, Jess,” she said, her voice choked. “I miss you.”

Zach took a small packet of Kleenex from his pocket and handed her one. She wiped at her face as she continued her monologue to Jessica. Sam didn’t listen to the words, still looking around and waiting for the danger to present itself. There was nothing though. It seemed perfectly normal. Sam felt different, too. There was no sense of urgency or tension about what he was feeling. It was just a moment of shared grief between Zach and Becky that he was witnessing. He just felt sad for them.

Becky straightened up and leaned her head against Zach’s shoulder and he put an arm around her.

“Do you think Sam’s okay?” she asked.

“No,” Zach said heavily. “He can’t be okay. But he’s with his family, and I think that will help.”

“Should we call him?”

Zach shrugged. “Maybe. I know Brady has spoken to him, so he’s taking calls.” He looked thoughtful. “We can try.”

Becky took her cell phone from her jacket pocket and scrolled through the numbers. At almost the same moment she lifted it to her ear, Sam felt a vibration against his leg. For a moment he felt he was in two places at once, in the cemetery with them, smelling the grass and feeling the air on his face, and also in Missouri’s living room with the scent of the brewed coffee in his nose.

Then he drew a gasping breath and the cemetery disappeared and he was looking into Missouri’s face as she leaned in close to him with her hands on his shoulders.

Sam pulled back. “I’m fine.”

“Your phone is ringing,” she said.

Sam took the phone from his pocket and flipped it open, wondering if it could possibly be her. “Hello?”

“Sam, it’s Becky.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Becky,” he said wonderingly. “Where are you?”

“In Sacramento,” she said, sounding confused. “Me and Zach came to the cemetery before going home for the holiday. We took Jess a wreath.”

Sam leaned his aching head back and drew a deep breath. He could feel Missouri’s gaze on him, but he didn’t meet it. His mind was reeling. He had _seen_ this happening, and he had been awake.

“How are you doing, Sam?” she asked 

“I’m okay,” Sam said vaguely.

_“Are you sure?” _Her concern was obvious, and Sam felt it overwhelming him. 

“I need to go, Becks,” he said. “I’ll call you soon.”

“Oh, okay. Take care of yourself, Sam.”

“You too.” Sam snapped the phone closed and stared into Missouri’s intense eyes. “Did you see?”

“I didn’t read your mind, but I saw your aura changing. What happened?”

“It was some friends from college. They were visiting Jess’ grave. I saw it as it happened, literally. That was who was on the phone. She started calling when I was watching, and then it rang and drew me out.” He drew a shaky breath. “They weren’t in trouble. It was just… normal.”

She beamed at him as she perched on the couch beside him and handed him his coffee. “Drink this.”

Sam sipped the still warm coffee and felt it slipping down his throat, connecting him to the present instead of his vision again.

“That was different,” he said.

“It was,” Missouri said, satisfaction in her voice. “You were gold, pure gold. That was an awakening.”

“An awakening of what?”

“Your power. It was what was naturally there, waiting for you to touch it. _This _is what you should be seeing, Sam. The things you have seen before, the things the demon did, reached you, despite your barriers, because they were the strongest and most frightening. They shouldn’t all be that. You can have these pure, natural visions, because you’re gifted. What you saw before was because of the demon. You were tapping into what was there from birth this time.”

“It still hurt,” Sam said, rubbing his temples.

“It will because there is still a part of you fighting. That’s your grief. But this was important. Did you feel the grief when you were there? Do you feel it now?”

“No, and that was strange, as I was at Jessica’s grave with them. I waited for it to come, but it didn’t. Maybe because I was too focused on watching for the danger.”

“Perhaps,” Missouri said thoughtfully. “You’re so powerful, Sam. I have never seen an awakening like that before, and I have studied psychic gifts since I was a child. My grandmother had the shine, and she taught me. She was gold, too, but nothing like you.”

Sam squeezed his eyes shut as the light burned them. “I don’t feel powerful right now,” he admitted. 

“Of course not,” Missouri said, rubbing his shoulder. “You need to rest. I will get you something for the pain. I have something upstairs. Rest now, Sam. I will call your mother to come get you.”

Sam slumped back against the cushions and tried to clear his mind. He tentatively opened his eyes again and found the light didn’t burn so bright this time. He felt exhausted, as if he had been awake for days, rather than the interrupted night he’d had, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep.

He heard Missouri moving around upstairs, and he closed his eyes again, thinking he would just rest them for a moment while he waited for her.

He was asleep before she got back.


	10. Chapter 10

Though they each had a journal in their hands, none of them were really reading them. Bobby and Dean were discussing the entry Dean had found that mentioned the Colt, and Mary was half listening to them and half thinking over the revelations of the night.

Sam wasn’t just dreaming of people he cared about getting killed; he was having visions of things being orchestrated by The Demon to _make _him see them. It meant The Demon was coming because he was psychic, and that was something she had enabled. She had brought him into their home.

How The Demon had known she would have a psychic child, she didn’t know, as she had no sign of the gift in herself, but it worried her. She had worried that it was something The Demon had done to Sam that made him what he was now, but Missouri said he already had the powers as a small baby, long before The Demon came into his nursery, so it couldn’t be that. 

If she had just stopped hunting sooner. If she’d listened to John and run away with him when he’d first suggested it, they would have been married and nowhere near The Demon when her father took that hunt. Even easier than that, if she had stood up to her father and stopped hunting when she’d wanted to, she wouldn’t have been there. The Demon would have known nothing about her, and Sam and Dean would have been born into a world without her deal hanging over their lives. Sam’s gifts could have been a positive thing to explore when he was ready, not the nightmare they were now.

And now both of her boys were in danger. Sam was a target for The Demon, he wanted _something _from him, even if it wasn’t his life, and Dean would fight and die to protect him. Bobby, too. And she would happily die to protect her sons. She hated herself for what she had done to them all.

“Mom,” Dean said, patting her arm. “Your phone.”

Mary snapped out of her thoughts and became aware of the trilling coming from her pocket. She pulled it out and checked the caller-id.

“Missouri,” she said, a thrill of worry in her chest.

“Answer it,” Dean urged.

Mary connected the call and asked, “Missouri, what’s wrong?”

_“Nothing is wrong,”_ Missouri said serenely. _“But you need to come collect Sam. I don’t think he’s going to be able to walk home.” _

Mary lurched to her feet, tension locking her fingers around the phone in her hand like a vice and pressing it so close to her ear that it was painful. “What happened to him?”

Bobby’s head snapped and Dean was on his feet, leaning close to her so he could hear what Missouri was saying. If she could, she would have put the phone on speaker for him, but she couldn’t move her hands.

_“I’ll let him tell you about it, but it’s nothing to worry about, Mary,”_ she soothed. _“It’s good even.”_

“Okay, I’m leaving now. Tell him I’m on my way.”

_“I will,” _Missouri said, though there was hesitation in her voice. Before Mary could question her further, she said, _“I’ll see you soon, Mary,”_ and hung up.

Mary tucked the phone back into her pocket and grabbed the Jeep’s keys from the table, hurrying toward the door before she realized Dean was holding her arm. She stopped and looked at him in confusion, seeing his eyebrows low over his eyes and his furrowed brow.

“What’s wrong with him?” Dean asked at once. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Mary admitted, wishing she had more to say to calm her son. “I just need to swing by and pick him up. Missouri didn’t tell me why.”

Dean pulled his keys from his pocket and said, “We’ll take the Impala. He’ll be more comfortable.”

The Jeep was physically more comfortable than the Impala, but Mary understood what Dean was saying. If he was upset about something, he was going to be happier in the car that was more familiar and that he grew up with.

Mary nodded and grabbed her coat from the back of her chair, pulling it on as she walked to the door. Dean was ahead of her, coat forgotten, and Bobby watched them go without saying a word.

Dean shivered when the cold air hit him, but he didn’t falter in his steps toward the car. He unlocked the door and threw himself in, turning over the engine as Mary slid into the seat beside him and closed the door.

Dean reversed quickly out of the spot and pulled onto the road, his hands tight around the steering wheel.

“What do you think’s happened?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” Mary said. “Maybe he’s overstretched himself somehow. I can’t see him falling asleep at Missouri’s, and she said it was good, so he can’t have seen something.”

Dean nodded curtly but didn’t answer.

It was a short drive past their old house to Missouri’s, and Dean was soon pulling to a stop and climbing out of the car, leaving the engine running. He was halfway up Missouri’s path before Mary was even out of the car, and he was knocking hard on the door before she caught up with him.

Missouri opened the door and frowned. “I said it was nothing to worry about,” she reminded Mary as Dean pushed past her and into the house, his usual careful manners forgotten.

“We worried anyway,” Mary explained.

“I can see. Come in.” Missouri stepped back and Mary passed her and went into the living room, hearing the front door click closed behind her.

Sam was curled under a blanket on the couch in what looked like an uncomfortable position in the tight space, his head resting on a pillow. From the way it lay neatly, Mary guessed Missouri had draped the blanket over him.

Though his eyes were closed and his breathing deep and steady, Mary thought it looked like he was in pain. There was a crease between his eyes and he was pale.

“Did he see something?” Dean asked, looking back from where he squatted beside Sam to Missouri.

“He did,” Missouri said, her voice rich with satisfaction. “But it was nothing to worry about or defend from, so you don’t need to worry. He should tell you the rest. It’s his story, not mine.”

“Let’s get him back to the motel,” Mary said.

Dean stood and moved aside so Mary could reach her son, and she squatted beside him and ran a hand over his forehead. “Sam, love, it’s time to wake up,” she said, her tone as gentle as it had been when he was a child and she was waking him from a nap.

Sam’s eyes opened, and Mary was shocked to see that they were bloodshot. It made something in her stomach twist. He smiled when he saw her though, making her relax and feel the warmth of his love that she hadn’t felt since before the accident—not since the airport where she had said goodbye to her son as he’d headed back to his life and love in California.

“Hey, Sammy,” she said softly.

“Did she tell you?” Sam asked quietly, raising his head from the pillow and easing himself upright.

“She said you saw something,” Mary said.

Sam nodded and smiled, his obvious happiness a stark contrast to his red eyes and pale cheeks. “It was good, Mom. No one was hurt.”

Mary thought that wasn’t true—Sam had been hurt—but she was pleased he had seen something that didn’t fill him with fear as they had so far.

She straightened up and held out a hand to him. “Let’s get you back to the motel so you can rest.”

Sam took it and allowed her to take some of his weight as he stood up, the blanket sliding off of him.

Missouri picked up the blanket and folded it then laid it on the back of the couch. “Eat and then rest, Sam,” she instructed. “You’ve spent a massive amount of energy today.”

“I will,” Sam said. “Thank you, Missouri.”

She beamed at him. “You did this yourself, Sam.”

“I couldn’t have done it alone. I can’t do any of this alone.”

“I will find someone,” Missouri said cryptically.

Sam nodded and looked at Dean who was eyeing his brother with concern, clearly seeing the signs of exhaustion and pain that Mary could see, too. 

“You look like hell,” Dean said, his casual tone belied by the worry in his eyes.

“I feel like it,” Sam said wearily. “Let’s get out of here.”

Dean looked like he was going to take Sam’s arm, he raised and then lowered his hand before turning and walking back along the hall with Sam following him at a slightly slower pace.

“I’ll be right out,” Mary said.

“Okay,” Sam called back to her.

Mary waited until they were outside before she turned her eyes on Missouri and said urgently, “Sam knows I’m lying to him. Or he did know. I think he believes he was wrong now.”

Missouri’s eyes widened. “How?”

“My aura.”

Missouri pressed her hand to her chest. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t even think… What did you tell him?”

“Bobby covered it. He said the color also meant immaturity. I _do _feel immature in the face of all of this, but I had to lie to him, to them both, again. I promised I wasn’t hiding anything. Sam thought it was because of his gifts. He thought I was scared of them or something; he thought I was seeing him as a freak.” She winced as she said the word. “He really thought I could feel that way about him.

“He knows better now though,” Missouri said reassuringly, laying a comforting hand on Mary’s arm.

“I know, but I had to lie _again._ If they ever find out the truth…”

Missouri bit her lip. “Have you thought about just telling them? They would understand.”

Mary shook her head jerkily. “They can never know. They’ll never forgive me for this. It’s not enough that I did this to John, to them, I have lied about it for years. We never lie to each other. They never lie to me.” She stared Missouri in the eyes. “You know exactly what I am hiding; you have seen it all in my mind. If that was something your son had done and hid from you, would you ever forgive him?

“Yes,” Missouri said without hesitation. “I would forgive him anything, just like you would your boys.”

Mary sighed. “I would. Perhaps that’s the difference. I have a mother’s love. It’s truly unconditional. I think it’s different for them.”

“It’s not,” Missouri disagreed. “I don’t know Sam’s mind, but I see how he is with you, how he relaxes when you’re close, how happy he was to see you when he woke up. That’s love, Mary. I _do_ know Dean’s mind. That boy would forgive you anything. He would do anything for you and his brother. His love has no limits.”

Mary nodded. That was part of what worried her about Dean. If he thought it would help Sam, he’d run headlong into a burning building with shoes made of stone. If The Demon came for Sam and he was there, he would step in front of him without a moment’s hesitation. Sam would do the same for Dean. They would both die to save the other, but Sam was the one in the line of fire, and Dean was the one that would run to him. It wasn’t enough that The Demon wanted Sam. It would take both her sons from her if it came. 

“Think about it,” Missouri said. “Maybe it’s time for them to know. Now, Dean is coming to check on you, so you better go.”

The door opened and Dean’s voice called, “Mom?” as Missouri said.

Without missing a beat, Missouri continued as if midway through a conversation, “Yes, take him home for a while. It’s Christmas in a few days. Have some time together as a family and relax. Sam knows what to do now, and I am only a phone call away.”

“Go home?” Dean asked, frowning as he came into the house.

“Yes,” Missouri said. “Sam has earned this. Let him sleep today—after he has eaten something—and go tomorrow. He needs the break.”

“Okay,” Mary said, comforted at the idea of taking her sons home for a while, of giving them a break. “When should we come back.”

“Call after the holiday and we can work it out then. I need to find someone else to help Sam, and that might take time.”

Mary felt a flutter in her stomach. “You can’t help him?”

“I can only help him a little more. He’s going to exceed my abilities soon. He needs an expert. I know someone, but it might take time to track him down. I’ll call if I have any news. If not, I’ll wait for your call.” She clapped her hands together. “Now, get that boy of yours home. Make sure he eats something good and full of protein, and make sure he gets some sugar, too. Don’t let him just caffeinate.”

“We won’t,” Dean promised, making for the door again.

Mary hugged Missouri then followed Dean out to the car where Sam was sitting in the back, his head resting against the window. As she took in his pale but satisfied face, she smiled slightly. Whatever had happened and what he had seen was obviously physically hard on him, but it was also a success that he felt good about.

That made her feel better. So far, his dreams had been nightmares, but this one seemed to have changed the balance.

xXx

As soon as they were parked outside their room, Dean rushed around to the side of the car to Sam’s door and opened it. Mary thought he was going to try to help Sam out, but Sam climbed out alone and walked steadily to Mary’s room.

Mary unlocked the door for him and then turned to Dean, “Can you go get something for us to eat.”

“Sure,” Dean said. “I’ll just grab my wallet.”

They went into the room, and Dean took his coat from the back on the chair and patted his pockets for his wallet. He pulled it out and said, “Right, I’m getting food. Sammy, according to Missouri, you need protein and sugar, so what do you want?”

Sam yawned widely. “Uh, a sandwich?”

Mary nodded. “Get him a BLT, extra bacon. And a milkshake. That okay, Sam?”

Sam grimaced but said, “Yeah, sure.”

Mary knew he would be happier with something a little healthier than a double layer of bacon, but Mary wanted him to get what Missouri thought he should have.

“I’ll take the same,” she said in a show of solidarity for her son. Her diet choices were usually more similar to Sam’s than Dean’s, they preferred healthier choices to Dean’s burgers, but she was happy to make an exception for this.

“Bobby?” Dean prompted.

Bobby considered. “Whatever blue plate they’ve got. You know what I like.”

Dean zipped his coat and said, “I’ll be right back. Sam, no big reveal till I’m back.”

Sam smiled and nodded. “I promise.”

Dean went out and closed the door behind him. There was no sound of the Impala’s engine starting as the diner they’d been using was just down the street.

“So, what’s going on, Sam,” Bobby asked, leaning forward in his seat.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to face the wrath of Dean?”

Bobby’s lips twitched. “I’d sooner take that than the wrath of Mary. But you’re probably right. Save it till he’s back. You can tell me this much at least—are you okay? You look awful.”

“I feel better now, so, yeah, I’m okay.”

Mary was just as curious as Bobby seemed to be, but she would wait until Dean was back to find out what had really happened, what Sam had seen.

Sam stifled a yawn and asked, “What was Missouri telling you, Mom? You were in there a while.”

Mary pushed down her discomfort and said, “We’re going home for the holiday. She says you need a break and that you know what to do now?” She formed it as a question.

“Oh, yeah. Okay. I guess I do. It’ll be good to get home.”

Mary was pleased to hear him speaking of home. When they’d left it last, he hadn’t seemed to care about the place at all. He had been numb for so long, and then scared and stressed by his dream, and she’d not thought that he saw it as home at all.

He seemed better now, better than he had been since before Jessica’s death. She was aware that his grief was still under the surface, waiting to spring, but she also had a slight and probably futile hope that it would stay there. At least until he was in a better place with his abilities, when he could handle it better than he would be capable of now. She thought he was already dealing with too much for one person, with his visions and the threat of the yellow-eyed demon. He needed breathing room.

“We’ll leave tomorrow,” she said. “You need to rest today.”

“I can rest in the car,” Sam pointed out.

“Missouri’s instructions,” Mary said. “Let’s follow them. She knows best.”

“She does,” Sam said with unexpected seriousness, and Mary wondered, again, what had happened between them while Sam was there.

“I’ll head back after we’ve eaten then,” Bobby said. “I’ll get that minivan fixed and then go by the store and get us something to eat for Christmas. Hopefully the shelves haven’t been cleared yet.”

“We don’t need to make a big fuss,” Mary said quickly, thinking that it wasn’t the right time for celebrations, Jessica was dead, even if Sam wasn’t feeling the weight of that loss, and there was so much more for them to think about. It seemed offensive for them to be having a family Christmas while Elizabeth and Michael were spending their Christmas shrouded in grief and reminders of the person missing from their table.

Bobby’s eyes moved to Sam who was staring at his hands where they were resting on his knees and nodded. “Sure, we’ll make it a quiet one, but we do need to eat something. Anything special you want, Sam?” He waited a moment as Sam continued to stare down at his hands. “Sam?”

Sam blinked and looked up. “Sorry, what?”

Mary wished she could know what he was thinking. He didn’t seem upset, but he wasn’t present in the room with them. She wondered where his mind was.

“I was asking if there’s anything special you want to eat Monday.”

Sam frowned. “Monday?”

“Christmas, Sam,” Bobby said, a line appearing between his eyebrows.

“Oh. Uh, not really. Have whatever you guys want.”

“We don’t have to do anything special at all,” Mary said. “It can be just another day if that will be easier.”

Sam considered. “Yeah, that will probably be better.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “It feels wrong, you know?”

“I know,” Mary said gently. “We all understand.”

Just because he was doing better, because he didn’t _feel_ his loss, it didn’t mean it wasn’t there for him. In fact, Mary thought his situation was probably even more confusing because of it. He _should _be grieving, unable to think of anything but Jess, but he was being overwhelmed with everything else, what he was and the danger he was in, and that coupled with the fact his grief was still pushed down, it had to be impossible for him. She wished there was something she could do to ease it for him. As it was, she wasn’t even sure if it made any difference to him that they were there at all.

Silence fell between them for a while, as Sam started across the room and Bobby tried to catch Mary’s eye and failed. She could feel him looking at her, but she wasn’t sure what she could say with Sam there anyway. Perhaps he disagreed that Christmas should be mostly ignored. He might think treating things they could control as normal as possible would help.

It had helped Mary after John died. She’d still been staying with Mike and Katie their first Christmas without him, and she’d wanted it to be special for Dean. It was Sam’s first Christmas, and she and John had been preparing for it long before The Demon came. Dean had a new extension for his car track, and Sam a tiny softball shirt that John had picked out. They would have both burned in the fire, and Mary hadn’t been able to face replacing them, so Dean had an Action Man and Sam an activity mat. Pretending things were normal for her sons had helped Mary cope with what had been a near impossible day, especially when Dean’s quiet grief and confusion had morphed into happiness for just a few hours.

But Sam had no one to pretend for. They all understood why he couldn’t do it, and there was no one to help by faking it. They would treat it as a normal day.

There was a tap on the door as if someone was kicking it lightly, and Bobby opened it to let Dean in. His hands were full of paper packages and foil boxes of delicious smelling food, and in a trap of paper cups of milkshake. He set them all down on the table and started handing them around.

“You got meatloaf, Bobby,” he said. “Sammy, Mom, here’s your sandwiches. I got fries, too.”

Sam picked up his sandwich and moved to sit on the bed, clearing a seat for Bobby at the table so he could eat his meal easier. Dean sat opposite him and Mary perched on the bed beside Sam.

For a while they ate in silence, and Mary watched, satisfied, as Sam ate and sipped his milkshake. When Dean had demolished his burger and eaten the last of his fries, always the first to finish, he balled up the rubbish and threw it neatly into the wastepaper basket in the corner.

“That was good,” he said, rubbing his stomach.

Mary smiled up at him and saw that his eyes were pointedly not looking at his brother. She was sure he was eager to hear Sam’s story now, but he was waiting as patiently as he could so Sam would finish eating. Only when Sam had eaten his sandwich and picked at some of the fires, did he ask, “So, Sam, what happened at Missouri’s?”

Sam set the trash from his meal on the bedside table and said, “I saw something, but this time I was awake.”

Mary’s mouth dropped open and she had to make an effort to close it again so as not to show Sam her shock.

Dean has less control. “You were _awake_!”

“Yeah. And it wasn’t anyone hurting either. It was just Zach and Becky, some friends of mine from college, they were…” He shook his head and redirected his words. “And it was happening right then. In the vision, I saw them talking about me, and Becky started to call, and then I was coming out of it and my phone was ringing. I spoke to her, and they were exactly where I had seen them, doing what I had seen them do,”

“Wow,” Dean said, his eyes awed. “That’s pretty big.”

“And better,” Bobby pointed out. “There was no one hurting this time.”

“Missouri said it’s what I should be seeing. It’s what’s naturally there,” Sam said. “The others are reaching me when I’m sleeping because my defences are down and they’re so much more powerful. We worked out what the tells were, what comes before a vision, and when it came, Missouri talked me through it. It was hard because it _hurt_, but I did it. I saw it. And I feel different now. They’re not so scary now that I know they don’t have to be bad.”

Mary took his hand and squeezed it. “This is good, Sam. You’re doing so well.”

Sam smiled sheepishly. “Missouri called it an ‘awakening’.”

“It sounds like one,” Bobby said warmly. “Really, Sam, this is great.”

“What’s next?” Dean asked. “Missouri said something about getting you an expert.”

Sam frowned. “I don’t know. She didn’t tell me about that much about it.”

“She thinks you’re going to exceed what she can help with,” Mary said gently.

Sam looked troubled. “I was pretty out of it after. I just crashed. I’ll call her later and ask her about it. I don’t know if I want someone else in on this though.”

Mary understood his reluctance, but she wanted Sam to be as prepared to deal with these things as he could be, and if that meant someone else knowing his secret, she would have to make Sam understand.

“We’ll talk to her later,” she said. “You should rest now.”

Sam stood and rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll see you later.”

He walked slowly from the room and closed the door behind him. Mary waited until she’d seen his shadow pass by the window before looked at Bobby who looked stunned as he said, “He’s going to exceed Missouri’s help?”

Mary nodded. “That’s what she said.”

Bobby shook his head, his eyes wondering. “Do you know how powerful she is?”

“Yeah,” Dean said heavily. “And Sammy’s going to be stronger.”

Bobby rubbed a hand though his beard. “I guess it makes sense now, don’t it?”

“What makes sense?” Mary asked.

Bobby looked apologetic. “If Sam is going to exceed her, he’s going to be a hell of a psychic. He’s also young and fit. He’s even hunted before, so he’s more aware than most other psychics out there. I don’t know _what_ The Demon wants from him, but I can see _why_ now.” He blew out a breath. “Sam’s going to be very powerful.”

Mary nodded and tried to look calm for the sake of Dean who she could feel watching her, but she wasn’t able to stifle the worry she felt. If Missouri was right, and she had no reason to doubt her, Sam was going to be incredible. What scared her was what uses The Demon would put that power to.

What was Sam capable of that a demon would want? 


	11. Chapter 11

As they had discussed, Christmas went unobserved for them all. Sam helped Mary make lasagne for dinner while Bobby and Dean worked on the Shelby.

So consumed with what had happened, Sam hadn’t seen the car before then, but when he went to call them for dinner, Dean was proud to show it off, explaining what they’d done to it so far and showing Sam polaroids of what it had looked like before they started work. Dean had spoken excitedly of what else they wanted to do for it and what parts they were still searching for.

Sam was surprised that he didn’t have to fake his interest. Since he’d had the vision of Zach and Becky, he felt more engaged in what was happening around him again, and he had been able to enjoy Dean’s enthusiasm and Bobby’s understated pride in what they’d achieved already for the car. Sam could see it was going to be a beauty when it was done.

Keeping with his change of mood, Mary had made arrangements for Sam to go into town the next day to begin to replace some of the documents he had lost in the fire. He had his driver’s licence and social security card as they had been in his wallet, but he needed a passport and other documents.

It felt good to have something normal to do, to start getting back to his life as a regular person instead of ‘the psychic’ that seemed to be everything for weeks. He felt the shift in the way his family were treating him, too. He wasn’t the delicate kid that needed to be shielded now.

Dean had teased him at breakfast about his ‘pathetic’ fruit salad while he chomped into bacon, sausage and eggs, and when Sam had replied, pointing out the difference in their cholesterol levels, Mary had scolded them. It had been a nice, normal slice of life that he’d not been sure he would have again after the fire. 

The only thing that marred the day was a parcel Bobby presented him with after dinner. He said it had arrived the day before but he hadn’t been sure if Sam was ready for it. It was a simple looking package, but the return address was what worried him: it came from Jessica’s parents. He hadn’t opened it yet. Instead, he’d thanked Bobby and stowed it under his bed in his and Dean’s room. He didn’t know what they would have sent or what seeing it would do to him, but he wasn’t ready to risk the progress he’d made emotionally to find out. When he was sure he was ready, he would look. He thought Michael and Elizabeth would understand. They cared about him, too.

They watched a movie that evening, something Dean picked out, and Sam half-listened to it while reading a book of demonology. He found something about a symbol that demons could use to lock themselves in a meat suit, and he marked the place so he could mention it to the others the next morning when they weren’t relaxing together. He didn’t want to spoil the moment of family peace.

He was reading the Rituale Romanum again, returning to his mission to commit it to memory, when his head started to ache and his muscles locked down. He told himself it could be just a headache from reading too long in the dim light of the lamp, but when his arm began to tingle, he set the book down, said his goodnights, and made his way upstairs to their room.

He didn’t bother to change into sleep clothes as he could feel the pain in his head peaking and knew it was time to stop and try to reach the vision before it faded. He kicked off his boots and sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him, and tried to relax himself.

He thought it should be easier to do this time as he knew it wasn’t necessarily something bad he was going to see, but he still struggled. He was still aware of his surroundings when Dean came into the room.

“Just wanted to grab a…” He stopped as he saw Sam sitting on his bed with his hands planted on his knees and his fingers digging into the denim of his jeans. “What is it?”

“Vision,” Sam said, unsurprised that his voice was strained.

“What are you seeing?”

Sam grimaced as his head throbbed. “Nothing yet. I’m still trying to let it come.” 

Dean came and sat on the edge of the bed, his hand reached forward tentatively and settled on Sam’s shoulder. “What can I do?”

Sam shook his head, his chest rising and falling quickly with fast and shallow breaths. “Nothing. I need to just… Actually, no. Come closer.”

Dean shifted closer and Sam reached out a hand and placed it on his chest.

“Breath as deep as you can,” Sam instructed.

Dean frowned but obeyed, and Sam let his eyes fall shut, his hand moving with the deep and steady rhythm of Dean’s breaths.

“Don’t stop,” Sam said, his voice coming to him distantly now.

Dean placed his hand over Sam’s and pressed it against his shirt. “Okay, Sammy.”

Sam felt himself relaxing as his breathing slowed to the speed of Dean’s and his muscles began to loosen again. The tingling on his arm peaked and the spear of pain drove into his head. He groaned and heard Dean saying his name, his voice worried, but Sam was swept away from it by the vision, and he looked around at the scene that had not yet happened, halfway across the country.

He was back in the cemetery again, among a large group of people; what looked like all of Jessica’s closest relations.

Michael and Elizabeth were flanked by Jessica’s brothers, Flynn and Mitchell. Flynn’s wife, Raegan was holding his hand and their twin boys were running around the grass around the other graves, laughter breaking from them.

Jessica’s sisters stood on the other side of the grave, with Jessica’s grandparents. Her grandmother was in a wheelchair, and her grandfather stood behind the chair, his hands on his wife’s shoulders, whether for comfort or support Sam wasn’t sure. He looked even more aged than he had at the funeral—too fast for it to be just because be the natural passage of time. Sam suspected loss and stress had added years to his age. Helen, Jessica’s grandmother, had suffered with her arthritis as long as Sam had known her, but even on her worst days, she had shunned the wheelchair, preferring to make slow progress on her own two feet.

They were all bundled in heavy coats and gloves, the twins in snow suits and blue knit caps with cartoon dogs on the front. Though Sam could feel the chill air in his face and hands, seeping through his jeans and sweater, he wasn’t cold. The temperature couldn’t really affect him in a vision. What did reach him was the cloud of sadness among them. Only the twins retained the freedom that came without grief. They were too young to understand what this place meant and what had happened. Sam wondered if they had even really missed their aunt yet, accustomed to her absence at college in their lives.

Sam moved closer to hear them better, and he realized Michael was praying. Jessica hadn’t been raised to be religious, but her family had gone to church for Christmas and Easter, and Sam had always known their wedding would have been held in a church for her sake whenever it came. He wasn’t ever sure of the when, despite his plans, but he had always had faith that it would happen.

As Michael reached the end of his prayer, they all recited a dutiful ‘Amen’, though Sam thought only Jessica’s parents and grandparents were absorbed in the moment. The younger members of her family were more uncomfortable, perhaps with the new religious undertones to their Christmas vigil.

Sam supposed he shouldn’t be surprised they had taken religion as a balm for their grief. He wondered if he would have done the same if he’d felt it. He doubted it as he knew it wasn’t an act of God that had taken her life. It had been a demon, the same demon that wanted Sam.

There were more wreaths on Jessica’s grave now along with Zach and Becky’s. He realized that was something he should have arranged himself. Had they looked at the names that were there, with their messages he could see but not read, and wondered where Sam’s was? Would they excuse it as an oversight from grief, or would they think he wouldn’t care?

No, he didn’t believe that. They had known how much he loved Jessica, and they had been kind to him at the funeral, murmuring words like ‘shock’ and ‘unreality’ to tell them they understood. He hadn’t cared at the time, unfeeling as he was, but now he was grateful. His complete lack of emotion could have been misinterpreted, and it could have destroyed the fact that they were comforted by the fact Jessica had been loved. She really had. The fact Sam couldn’t feel his loss didn’t detract from what he’d had with her.

Sam wished he could pull himself out of the vision, feeling the almost indecency of it with him as an observer that should be feeling the same but wasn’t. Right now it was Christmas evening, and there was no way they would have had the peaceful family Christmas he’d had. Perhaps he should even be there with them now, sharing this pain and trying to take comfort in the fact it was shared among them all. He had felt guilt at the fact he didn’t feel his grief, and fear of when he would, but now he realized it was more than that. It was about more than just him and what he felt. It was what other people were missing that troubled him. Perhaps he didn’t need the comfort of being with them for this, but they might need it from him.

For the first time, he really wondered what was in that box he’d hidden under the bed. He needed to find out. Even if it hurt, if it made him feel, he owed it to Michael and Elizabeth to acknowledge what they had sent.

Without instruction or discussion, the group around the grave began to walk back to the parking lot together, Elizabeth and Michael trailing behind them, hand in hand. Sam watched them go, wondering how much longer he would stay now they were gone. Then he felt warmth on his right palm and motion that he wasn’t initiating. It was moving up and down in a steady rhythm, and there was a voice in his ear. Dean’s.

He closed his eyes and when they opened, he was back in his bedroom, Dean sitting opposite, holding Sam’s hand to his chest as he watched him with a tight brow and worried eyes.

At the same moment Sam recognized he was back in his room and that Dean was with him, his head was hit by another spear of pain and he ripped his hand from Dean’s grip to cradle his head. His eyes teared and he groaned loudly.

“Sam!” Dean gasped. “What do I do?”

He was obviously panicked, and Sam forced himself to pull out of the defensive place of retreat to reassure him. “Nothing,” he panted. “It’ll pass.”

Dean placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder and said, “Breathe, man, slowly.”

Sam made a concerted effort to calm his breathing and succeeded. His panting gasps became slow, deep draws, and the knot in his chest loosened.

“I’m okay,” he said hoarsely.

“It’s going?”

“I’m okay,” Sam repeated, unwilling to lie.

The pain wasn’t lessening, but the shock of it was wearing off, and he found it easier to think around it.

“You want some painkillers?” he asked. “Should I get Mom?”

“Just some painkillers,” Sam said, straightening up and looking at his brother. “Thanks.”

Dean quickly slid off the bed and disappeared out of the room. Sam heard him banging around in the bathroom and then the sound of running water before he came back with a glass of water in his hand and a bottle of pills. He shook two pills into Sam’s outstretched hand and then gave him the glass of water. Sam knocked back the pills and chased them with water. He set the glass down and wiped a hand over his face.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“Who’s freaked?” Dean asked with a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “You’re fine.”

“I am,” Sam agreed.

Dean watched him for a moment and then asked, “What did you see? Is there something we need to do?”

“No, it wasn’t that kind of vision. It was something normal. No one to save.”

Dean’s fingers clasped reflexively and he asked, “You want to talk about it?”

Sam didn’t want to share what he had seen, so he shook his head and said, “Not really. It was just… people.”

Dean nodded. “Okay, man. I should get downstairs. I only came up for another movie. If I stay too long, Mom is going to come check on us. Unless you want me to stay…”

“No, I’m good. Thanks though. Having you here really helped.”

Dean patted Sam’s shoulder and grabbed a DVD box from the pile on his dresser. “Get some sleep.”

Sam smiled and then, as the door closed behind Dean, he dug his fingers into his temples to offset some of the pain. It was fading a little now as the grip the vision had on him passed, and he hoped the painkillers would kick in soon and take it all away.

He felt exhausted and wanted to sleep, but there was something he needed to do before he could. He climbed off the bed and reached underneath for the box he’d stowed there. He lifted it out and sat down on the bed again, his legs folded and the box in front of him.

He hesitated a moment, taking a deep breath, before tearing the strip and opening the lid. There was a layer of tissue paper covering the contents and a piece of heavy linen paper folded on top. Sam picked it up and unfolded it to read the message in the handwriting he recognized as Elizabeth’s.

_Sam, we know you lost everything, so we thought these might bring you comfort._

It was signed individually by both Elizabeth and Michael.

Sam set the note down and opened the tissue paper, reaching inside with a shaking hand and pulling out a of sheaf paper. The first page his fingers touched was thick and it bore his own face in a pencil sketch. It was one of Jessica’s works. He was smiling widely in the picture, his eyes alight with happiness. He had seen it before as it was one of the works Jessica had displayed on the corkboard in her bedroom in her parents’ house. He didn’t know if it had been drawn from memory or if he had posed for her, as Jessica had drawn both ways. She was a gifted artist. Sam sometimes thought she was wasting her talent on a career in law.

Under the sketch was a thick sheaf of photographs. He flipped through them and saw himself and Jessica frozen on the glossy paper. Some of them were candid shots that had been taken without them being aware, one in which Sam had Jessica on his shoulders and they were facing away from the camera. He wished he remembered what they had been doing when it was taken. Another was a posed shot of them from a formal dinner he did remember for their first Thanksgiving together—only his second time of meeting Jessica’s family. There was also a shot of them sitting on a blanket, their faces lit with the yellow glow of a tiki torch from a beach party they’d gone to before the summer break. 

Sam stared at their happy faces, remembering a different life shared, and he waited for the pain. It had to come now, didn’t it? He was seeing the evidence of their life together, having just seen the pain of her family’s loss, but he just felt regret that it wasn’t what it should be.

He wondered what was wrong with him? Was it because he was psychic that he could block this out? It wasn’t normal to be able to shut this down, he knew. He didn’t want the pain, but it felt wrong to him not to feel it. It was a betrayal to the woman he’d loved.

He put the photographs and sketch back in the box and closed it. He had seen enough to be able to thank Michael and Elizabeth now, and he had something to come back to when he could face that lack of feeling that came with the contents of the box.

He stowed the box away again and then took a pair of sweat pants and t-shirt from the drawer to change for bed. He changed and then went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and use the toilet.

As he passed along the hall back to his room, he heard the sounds of a gunfight coming from the TV and smiled. Dean would be enjoying his evening.

His headache was fading, and he thought the painkillers were working. They were definitely making him drowsy. He wondered what exactly it was Dean had given him. Bobby had a fairly comprehensive pharmacy in his bathroom cabinet—the byproduct of a life hunting.

He flipped off the light and made himself comfortable then closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come. It didn’t take long, soon he was swept away.

xXx

Sam had gone to the post office to arrange for a new passport and to send a letter to Michael and Elizabeth to thank them for the package, and Dean had tagged along as he wanted to get his hair cut.

It was a nice slice of normality for them both to being doing something like that together, and when Sam had finished at the post office, they wandered down the street to Benito’s Barbershop together, Dean trying to persuade Sam to go with him to get his own hair cut.

“No,” Sam said firmly. “It doesn’t need it.”

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean wheedled. “You at least need that mop trimmed. It’s out of control.”

“It’s fine. I don’t need as much grooming as you.”

“You really do,” Dean sighed under his breath and then raised his voice to a normal level with, a teasing note. “If you sit nice and still, Ben will give you a sucker.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Which worked when I was six, but not now.” He nudged Dean toward the barbershop and said, “I’ll be next door.”

Dean eyed the used book store that sat beside the barbers and said, “Okay. Fine. You go do the geek boy stuff.”

Sam smiled at the humor in Dean’s eyes, appreciating the ease of the moment, and watched as Dean pushed open the door and called, “Ben, how are you doing?”

He heard Benito’s friendly greeting and then carried on along the street on to his own destination. 

He had always liked the book store. It had a smell of old paper and something unique Sam had never been able to define, and the bell above the door seemed like a greeting every time he went in. Mr. Rosenburg, the owner, always had a friendly word for him, and often had something to recommend to Sam. 

When Sam entered, he was up a ladder, putting away a book, and he turned to look at Sam and beamed at him. “Sam, it’s good to see you. I wondered if I would. How’s college?”

Sam smiled, despite the reminder of what had happened since he’d last been here, because it felt good to speak to someone that didn’t know. Mr. Rosenburg had no idea that Sam had lost his love and gained the burden of a psychic ability and enemy.

“I’m good,” he lied carefully. “How’s business.”

“Slow. I hoped Christmas would boost sales, but people want everything to be new now. They have no appreciation for the value of history anymore.”

“That’s a shame,” Sam said.

“I have something I’ve been keeping for you. It’s in the back. I will look.”

Sam thanked him and began to peruse the shelves while Mr. Rosenburg slipped behind the red curtain that separated his small back room from the rest of the store.

Sam usually started with fiction, but this time he skirted it and went to the more eclectic of the collection. Sam had found a couple books on lore here before, among the mismatched history and legends. He’d often wondered if Mr. Rosenburg knew more about the real world that he was letting on, but he’d never asked in case he was wrong.

He saw nothing that looked hopeful this time, and he moved along the shelves a little further. His eyes fell on a battered hardback that he slid from the shelf and examined. It was purportedly the lost memoirs of Edgar Cayce. He flipped it open and saw the neat lines of small type, individual words catching his eyes such as ‘trance’ and ‘energy’.

Sam snapped it closed and carried it to the counter as Mr. Rosenburg came from behind the curtain with a battered paperback in his hand. “A History of Lincoln,” he said happily. “I thought it would interest you.”

Sam took it and smiled. “That’s great.”

He’s developed an interest in Abraham Lincoln in school that had developed in college. He fascinated Sam, especially his life before his presidency.

“I’ll take it and this one, please,” Sam said, setting the Cayce book on the counter.

Mr. Rosenburg raised an eyebrow. “Cayce? Not your usual.”

“No,” Sam agreed. “I was curious.”

“Curiosity drives progress. I commend you.” He rang up the sale on his anachronistic register, and Sam handed over the money.

Mr. Rosenburg placed the books in a small paper bag and slid them across to Sam. “Happy New Year, Sam. I wish you all the best for whatever comes for you.” His voice was unexpectedly sincere, as if he knew more than he was letting on about Sam’s current troubles. 

“Uh, thanks,” Sam said. “You too.”

He left the store, hearing the tinkle of the bell above the door, and moved quickly away from the window to the barbers, feeling Mr. Rosenburg’s eyes on him.

Dean was still in the barbers, so Sam leaned against the wall, tucking his chin deeper under his scarf to offset the chill.

He was still thinking over what had happened, assuring himself that it was an innocent comment and that nothing outwardly had changed in him that would have tipped the bookseller off, when the door opened beside him and Dean came out.

He raised his arms at his side and asked, “How do I look?”

Sam appraised Dean’s hair, seeing the slight difference in length, and decided to mess with him a little. “Were his scissors blunt?”

Dean frowned. “Huh?”

“It’s a little uneven,” Sam observed. “I’m sure Mom will fix it with the kitchen scissors.” He managed to keep his face straight for a moment, seeing Dean’s worry as he turned to check his reflection it the window, and then laughed.

“Very funny, Sam,” Dean griped.

“It’s not my fault you’re vain,” Sam said.

Dean scoffed. “No one that has hair as long as yours has any right to talk about vanity. Now, let’s go. I’m hungry.”

They walked along the street together, taking the corner onto the street where the deli that also served as a restaurant was. Dean went in first and sniffed the air with a look of glee. “That’s it,” he said happily. “Real food.” He led Sam to the counter and placed his order for his usual footlong Italian with jalapenos. 

Sam ordered his own turkey on rye, and they waited for their lunch to be prepared then paid and grabbed cans of soda then went to a table. Sam was going to sit at their usual table, but Dean kept walking to a booth in the corner. Sam followed him over and slid into the seat facing away from the door, knowing Dean preferred to know what was coming at all times. It was the same reason he always took the bed nearest the door when they stayed in motels. He was ready to act at all times to protect.

As Dean unwrapped his sandwich and took a bite, Sam’s phone began to ring. He took it from his pocket and checked the caller ID before sending it to voicemail and stuffing it away again. It was Brady, and Sam thought he knew what he was going to want to talk about. He’d already sent several texts on the subject.

“Don’t feel like talking?” Dean asked.

Sam sighed and opened his own sandwich and took a bite to give himself a moment to think.

Dean waited patiently for him to chew and swallow before raising an eyebrow and saying, “Well?”

“It’s Brady,” Sam said. “He wants to know if I’m coming back to school soon.”

“Oh.” Dean frowned. “Are you?”

Sam shook his head. “No, not yet. I’ve got to make some calls about deferring my place and my scholarship.”

“And go back in the fall?” Dean asked.

Sam huffed a laugh. “Sure, I’ll be the psychic on campus.”

Dean set down his sandwich and looked serious. “You will be, but no one needs to know that.” He sighed. “This isn’t the end Sam. So you have these… powers, you’re still the same person.”

“You think so?” Sam asked, an inkling of hope in his chest that he really could be, against all evidence.

“Yes,” Dean said with a grin. “You’re still my pain in the ass little brother.” He stared Sam in the eye and then became serious. “Don’t you think you’re the same?”

Sam shrugged and averted his eyes. “I don’t know.” He sighed and said honesty, “I don’t think I am. I don’t feel the same.”

“That’s not surprising after all you’ve been through.” Dean bit his lip. “Is it that bad for you? You’ve seemed better since we left Lawrence.”

Sam looked up, seeing his brother’s worry. “It’s getting better. I wish they didn’t hurt so much, but the visions aren’t so bad now it’s not all death I’m seeing. And since I can see other things, I feel more in control. It still freaks me out though. I don’t understand why I have these abilities. I know Missouri says I was born with them, but _why_ was I born with them. Where do they come from? And what does The Demon want with them? There have to be hundreds of psychics in the US alone, so why did he choose me when I was only six months old to come for? And why did it take twenty-two years for him to come back for me?”

“Mom thinks he was in Hell,” Dean said. “He had to have been exorcised after Dad.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe. But that still doesn’t explain why he came when I was a baby. Did he want to take me then but Dad stopped him? Dad was not a threat; The Demon killed him, so why didn’t he do whatever it was he wanted after? Why did he leave when Mom came?”

Dean looked faintly nauseous as he processed Sam’s questions. “I don’t think he wanted to take you. Like you said, Dad was no threat, and Mom wasn’t either back then. Maybe he just wanted to get a look at you like Missouri did when you were a baby.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know, Dean. It feels like there’s more to it. I just wish I knew what it was.” His tone was full of unconcealable bitterness as he finished. “I just wish I knew what it wanted from me. It can’t be anything good. What am I supposed to do? Who is it going to hurt?”

Dean reached across the table and gripped Sam’s arm hard, his eyes intense. “We’re going to work this out, Sammy, I promise. We’ll find The Demon and kill it, then it won’t matter what it wants from you.”

Sam nodded but he was still troubled. They were looking for the Colt, but if The Demon came now, they had no defense. He didn’t think The Demon was going to let itself be trapped.

Dean seemed to see he wasn’t convinced as he went on, his voice fervent. “You’re not alone in this, Sammy. We’re all on your side. Me, Mom and Bobby are going to protect you, and Missouri will help you. And it’s not just us. Ellen and Bill know the truth now, too. They’ll help. We’re going to take care of you.”

Sam knew that, but he didn’t know if they were a threat to The Demon without the Colt on their side.

He nodded seriously, feeling Dean’s intense gaze on him, and then looked up to see Dean’s satisfied smile.

“Good,” he said, picking up his sandwich again. “And, just so know you, it doesn’t matter how many ‘powers’ you get or how many visions you have, I’m still the big brother that can kick your ass.”

Sam huffed a laugh. “I’ll make sure to remember that.”

“Make sure you do. Now, eat your lunch or I’m eating it for you.”

Sam took a bite of his sandwich and grinned. He knew Dean meant what he said, and he believed they would all try, but he wasn’t confident they would succeed. Despite that, he felt better knowing Dean had his back.


	12. Chapter 12

The week since Christmas had passed quietly, with no more visions for Sam, and Dean was settling into life as it used to be for them when Sam was there. He didn’t forget about the yellow-eyed demon or the danger Sam was in, but he was able to see more than just that while Sam was in a better headspace. They all seemed more relaxed.

He was doing the breakfast dishes, planning to start on the journals when he was done. Bobby was sitting at his desk in the library, a heavy book of lore open in front of him while he researched something for another hunter, and Mary was collecting the dishes from the table and bringing them to Dean to be washed. Sam was outside somewhere, having gone for a walk after they’d eaten. He said his back was almost healed, but he was still doing the exercises the physiotherapist had advised. Dean thought it also helped Sam to get back to something normal. He and Jessica had been athletic—Jessica more than Sam—and Dean didn’t doubt that Sam would be jogging when he was completely fit again.

He was pleased that Sam was getting back to that part of his life. They had seemed to lurch from crisis to crisis, drama to drama lately, and they’d all been left reeling. Even with the threat that was hanging over them and the mission to find the Colt, it felt like they were finding their feet in that new life and getting back to themselves.

“That’s the last of them,” Mary said, setting two coffee cups down on the counter. “I’ll dry.”

She picked up a cloth and moved to the drainer, reaching for a washed bowl and then stopping as the door opened and Sam came in, bringing a blast of cold air with him. He was on the phone, speaking quietly, and Bobby looked up from his book.

“Hold on, Missouri,” Sam said. “I’m putting you on speaker.”

He pressed a button and set the phone down on the table then unzipped his coat and hung it on the peg.

Mary moved to the table and asked, “What’s going on, Missouri.”

_“I’ve found someone to help Sam.”_

“That’s good,” Bobby said, coming into the kitchen and leaning a little closer to the phone. “But I’m still not clear on why you can’t do it.”

_“I can do a lot, but I can’t do it all,”_ Missouri said. _“My abilities are rooted to the spiritual. The person I have found is an expert on much more than I am. He can help Sam move forward.”_

“What kinds of powers are we looking at?” Bobby asked.

Missouri hesitated before answering, and Dean thought she was deciding how much to tell them, weighing their need for information with Sam’s need for privacy. _“I can’t be sure. I can only see the potential for more.”_

Bobby’s lips pressed into a thin line, and Dean thought he was also aware that there was more that Missouri wasn’t saying.

Dean was pleased she was giving Sam a chance to tell them himself though. They had all had a part in what was happening to him lately, each with their own worries. Now he was in a better place, it was right that he had more choice in what to tell them.

“Who is this expert?” Mary asked.

_“He’s called Clark, and he’s a little… different.”_

“Different how?” Sam asked, a muscle twitching in his jaw, looking stressed for the first time in a while.

_“I can’t really explain. You’ll need to meet him to see for yourself. He’s in town now. Can you come?”_

“We’ll be there,” Sam said, exchanging a glance with Mary.

She nodded and said, “We’re coming today.”

_“Good,” _Missouri said, her relief obvious. _“Call when you’re ready to come over, and I’ll arrange for him to come meet you.”_

“Thanks, Missouri,” Sam said. They exchanged goodbyes and Sam ended the call and tucked the phone away.

There was a moment of thoughtful silence and then Bobby said, “Do you want me to come along?”

Sam’s eyebrows pulled together as he considered and then he said, “No. I think we’ll be okay.”

“You’ve got repairs booked in,” Mary reminded him. “And the Shelby needs work.”

Dean knew she was thinking of money. They hadn’t taken a paid case in two months, so they weren’t earning. It was unlikely they’d be taking cases for a while as they couldn’t abandon the search for the Colt or leave Sam alone in case the demon came. They still needed money, even with everything else going on. A lot of hunters funded their lives with credit card fraud, but Mary would never do that. She was too honest.

“If you’re sure,” Bobby said.

“We are,” Sam said confidently. “Thanks though.”

Bobby patted him on the shoulder. “I’m only a phone call away if you change your mind.”

Sam smiled, and Dean thought it was a genuine one. He was still handling it. He had seemed much better since they left Lawrence, and even more so after he and Dean had spoken in town. He wasn’t his old self again, but he seemed to be at peace in a way he hadn’t been before.

“Come on, Sam,” Dean said, tugging his arm. “Let’s get our stuff together. We don’t want to keep Missouri waiting.”

“Or her expert,” Sam said, a hint of doubt in his voice.

“Nope,” Dean said. “Him neither.”

Dean thought he understood. He was feeling pretty curious about this person and how he was ‘different’. He figured they could deal with anything as long as it helped Sam, but it would be easier if these differences were just a little eccentricity and not another issue. Sam needed to be able to relax if this was going to work, he’d seen that when Sam had his vision Christmas day, and dealing with someone with issues wasn’t going to help that.

xXx

They arrived at Missouri’s late in the afternoon, and she welcomed them in with promises of coffee and cookies.

She seemed perfectly at ease, happy to see them again, and Dean was pleased. It made him feel a little better about her expert. If there was something about him that was going to be a problem, she would surely be a little more on edge, especially since she knew as well as they did that Sam was still struggling and how important it was for him to be able to relax if he was going to have a vision.

Dean and Sam settled on the couch in the living room while Mary and Missouri went into the kitchen. Dean could hear their muffled voices, and he thought that Mary’s sounded a little strained. He wondered if she was questioning Missouri about who was coming.

Sam seemed anxious now. His knee was bobbing, and he kept wiping the palms of his hands on his pants. Dean bumped him with his shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile which Sam returned.

The voices in the kitchen stopped, and they came in a moments later with a tray of coffee in Missouri’s hands and Mary with a plate of cookies.

They handed them around, and Mary sat on Sam’s other side as Dean bit into a cookie. They were almost as good as Missouri’s pies, and he moaned appreciatively.

“Damn, Missouri, these are good,” he said. “What’s in them?”

Missouri beamed at him as she sat down on her usual armchair. “I call them kitchen sink cookies. I put everything I can think of in them.”

Mary took a bit of one and her eyes closed with an almost rapturous expression. “Ginger?” she asked,

“Just a little,” Missouri said. “Have one Sam.”

Sam took one and bit it before setting it down on his saucer and saying, “Will he be here soon?”

Missouri checked her watch. “Hopefully. He didn’t give me a time. I told him you were on your way over, and he said he’d finish up and come. Clark is usually a little vague about things like this.” Perhaps seeing Dean’s concern, she went on. “He’s deadly serious when it comes to his gift though. His way with things and people like this is just a quirk.”

“Does he have a lot of quirks?” Mary asked.

Missouri nodded slowly. “More than most.” She looked from Mary to Dean and then her eyes settled on Sam who was biting his lip. “I know you’re all nervous, but this is the best chance we have of Sam developing what’s there. I was lucky to be able to reach Clark so soon. He’s quite transient. I had to call around his usual haunts to reach him. He got back to me faster than usual, though.” She sipped her coffee as if to give herself a moment to think and then said, “It’s not going to be easy for you, Sam, for any of you really, but if you can just try to be open to him, he will help you far more than I can.”

“What exactly can he do?” Dean asked.

Missouri looked thoughtful. “I can’t say everything, he can’t read minds for instance, but he can do a lot more than me.” She looked at Sam, her gaze focused until Sam raised his eyes to her. “He’s telekinetic.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open. “And that’s something Sam can do?”

Sam flinched and Dean felt immediately guilty for his reaction. It was a shock, though, to hear your brother might have the ability to move things with his mind.

“Maybe,” Sam said. “Missouri thinks she can see it there.”

Dean pasted on a smile and said, “That’s great. It’ll come in very handy. No more passing Bobby books. You can just magic them over to him.”

Sam smiled slightly and nodded. “Yeah. I guess.”

Dean didn’t like that the lightness they’d had back home had been lost with their return to Lawrence, and he wished they could leave again, go back to where things were starting to feel right, but he also knew how important this was to Sam to master his abilities. 

Sam began to drink his coffee quickly, even though it was still steaming and Dean knew it had to be burning him, and he took it as a sign that Sam wanted to have a little space.

Missouri looked up suddenly and said, “He’s here.”

A moment later there was a loud knock on the door and Missouri rushed to answer it. Dean heard her greeting and a rumble in response and then she led the most unlikely looking psychic into the room.

Dean had seen Pamela and Missouri before, and there was something about them that seemed to show they were different, even before you found out about their powers. This man looked like he’d taken a wrong turn on the way to a dive bar. He was in his forties, maybe fifties, wearing a ratty black AC/DC shirt under a leather jacket and dark jeans that were torn and patched and stained with what looked suspiciously like blood. He smelled of tobacco and stale alcohol, and he was in need of a shower and shave.

Despite what Sam said about Dean being vain, he wasn’t a person that took more than necessary care with his appearance. With their jobs as PIs is was important for them to look professional, and so Dean kept himself cleanshaven and his hair trimmed when they were on that kind of job, but when they took a regular hunt, he let appearance slip and he relaxed his rules a little. This man looked like he’d never heard of rules. His long hair, longer than Sam’s, needed shampooing, and the shadows under his eyes screamed sleepless nights.

Dean took it all in within the moment he came in and then he forced a smile of greeting, hoping to get them off on a good footing if this was the man he was going to be relying on to help his brother.

“Sam, Dean, Mary, this is Clark,” Missouri introduced.

Clark fell into the second armchair and rested his ankle on his knee, looking perfectly relaxed. His eyes moved from Mary to Dean, sliding past Sam, and then settling on Sam with an intense look on his face. He whistled between his teeth. “Wow, Mosely, I see what you mean.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably, and Mary squeezed his hand.

A small, amused smile flickered on Clark’s lips, and then his eyes narrowed and he asked, “Mosely says it’s just visions so far?”

Sam nodded.

“Because you’ve got some kind of grief blocking you,” Clark went on.

“I guess,” Sam said. “I don’t really know what it is.”

Dean glanced at Sam. He hadn’t told them that. They knew he was blocked, but he hadn’t said why. He wondered why he hadn’t. Didn’t he want them to know for some reason, or was it just an oversight?

“I do,” Clark said smugly, turning to Missouri. “You were wrong. It’s not grief.”

“Then what is it?” Mary asked, her hand squeezing Sam’s again. It looked like she was taking comfort, not offering it this time.

Clark frowned. “What it is doesn’t matter to you.”

Dean felt a surge of anger. This man was an asshole. He didn’t know them, their bond, and he was talking to his mom like she was a nosy stranger. Sam was their family. 

“Sam is my son!” Mary said harshly.

“I’m aware,” he replied. “But that doesn’t mean you have the rights to his whole story. When he gets there, it’s down to Sam to tell you.”

Dean waited for Sam to ask himself, to say they had no secrets, but he didn’t speak up. Dean tried not to be annoyed, but it went against how they’d been raised to hide something like this. Sam would always have told them before.

Clark relaxed back in his seat and said, “And you’ve got something going on with a… demon?”

Mary shot Missouri a sharp look and Missouri shook her head slightly. “Don’t fish, Clark.”

Clark grinned. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“I thought you couldn’t read minds,” Dean said.

“I can’t. But I can read people. Missouri said you two were hunters and that something big was going down, and you two are screaming tension and fear—among other things. The biggest thing out there right now is a demon, and…” He nodded and Mary winced. “And you just told me what it is. I like demons,” he said conversationally.

Sam’s brows lowered over his eyes. “You _like _them?”

“I like hunting them,” Clark clarified.

“You’re a hunter?” Mary asked. “Why haven’t we heard of you?”

Clark laughed. “Do you know every hunter in the country? Do you know many psychics, apart from Mosely here?” Without waiting for an answer, he went on, “I am not a hunter. You can keep your wendigos and werewolves; I’ve got no use for them. I just like demons. You don’t know about me because there are hunters out there that aren’t exactly openminded about psychics. They feel threated by us. Understandably. Someone like your boy could put them on their asses.”

The air filled with tension. Dean fought the urge to check Sam’s expression in case he saw it as a judgment. He was worried though. He’d never considered why people like Gordon didn’t like psychics. He’d listened to the company lines about ‘freaks’ and them being ‘unnatural’. He hadn’t realized it could be because they were scared. It made sense though. Clark already screamed trouble, and that was before you included the fact he was telekinetic. 

Clark continued as if unaware of the effect the words had on the room—an impossibility if he was as good at reading people as he said. “Sammy here would make a damn good hunter, and he’ll make a damn big threat when he masters what’s in there.” 

“Don’t call me Sammy,” Sam said, his jaw clenching.

“Sorry, _Sammy._ I’ll try to remember that in future. I’m guessing the aversion to the name is something to do with your grief.”

“No,” Sam said, chancing a glance at Dean.

Clark followed his eyes and snorted. “No, I see it now. It’s not about the loss. It’s a big brother name, right?”

Dean gritted his teeth. He was angry that this asshole was behaving like this, acting like he was so superior, and talking about Sam as a threat. He had no idea what he was talking about. Sam was the least threating person out there. He was the exact opposite of Dean and the threat he posed to monsters. Sam had never fit as a hunter. He was different.

Clark looked at Dean and a small smile curled his lips. “It’s okay, Dean, I don’t like you either. We’ll both find a way to rub along. I am going to be sticking around for a while, aren’t I? Sammy needs me.”

Dean stared down at his fisted hands and drew a deep breath. No one else spoke.

Clark shrugged when the silence became too long and cracked his knuckles. “I think we’re done then. Sammy, I’ll see you in room forty-two of the Days Inn tomorrow. Come at ten and knock loud. I’m a deep sleeper.” He sneered at Dean. “Come alone.”

“Why can’t we be there?” Dean asked, wrongfooted by the revelation that he wasn’t going to be there as a barrier between this aggravating man and his brother.

“Because you’re not conducive to a learning atmosphere,” Clark said. “And because I don’t like you. Besides, I think you have other things to be doing.” He stared at Mary, keeping his eyes on her until she looked at him. “Things to think about right, Mary?” When Mary frowned, he laughed harshly and went on. “That’s a nice muddy pink you’ve got going on. Immaturity, is it?”

Mary’s eyes widened slightly, but when she spoke her tone was cool. “Yes.”

Clark laughed again and got to his feet. “Right. I’m done. I’ll see you tomorrow, Sammy. Don’t worry about bringing an apple for teacher. You can bring me a fifth of Jack instead.”

Sam nodded stiffly, and Missouri stood and herded Clark to the door. Dean thought it was only the fact he _wanted _to leave that stopped him bucking and sitting down again just to annoy her.

When the door had closed behind him, she came back into the room and sighed heavily. “I’m sorry about that. He’s not usually so bad. He was just playing to his audience.” She looked pointedly at Dean. “He’ll be better behaved tomorrow.”

“He’s definitely different,” Sam said quietly.

Missouri sat down and smoothed the folds on her skirt. “He’s difficult, but he really is the best. He’s who you need, Sam. Just concentrate on what he’s teaching you and let the rest wash over you. If he gets a reaction, he’ll be worse. That’s what he likes. Today was his idea of a good time.”

“He’s an asshole,” Dean growled, and Mary said his name softly as a warning. Realizing that he wasn’t alone with his family, that he was speaking to Missouri, Dean apologized and said, “And there’s no one better that can help? No one without a bad attitude?”

Missouri smiled slightly. “Sorry, no. You shouldn’t have to see him much in future. It’s Sam he’s going to be spending time with.”

“Which makes me feel so much better,” Dean muttered.

“It’s fine,” Sam said, nudging Dean with his elbow and smiling. “I can deal with a bad attitude. I grew up with you.”

Pleased with the instance of humor, though he suspected it wasn’t entirely genuine, Dean said, “I’m awesome and you know it.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Sure you are.” His tone became more serious as he addressed Missouri. “Do you trust him?”

“Yes,” Missouri said seriously. “He’s going to help you.”

Sam shrugged. “That’s good enough for me.”

Mary smiled and patted his hand. “It’s good enough for us all.”

Dean nodded and smiled, but it felt like a rictus. He didn’t trust Clark, and he worried he was going to take advantage of his time with Sam to mess with him, but Missouri said he was the best, and he wanted Sam trained in this powers thing. He would have to trust Sam to take care of himself.

That much he could do.


	13. Chapter 13

Sam left his and Dean’s motel room a minute before ten and walked around to the back of the motel to Clark’s room, the bottle of whiskey in his hand.

He was nervous but also determined. He wasn’t going to quail under Clark’s attitude. He could take what he threw and him and concentrate on learning. That was what mattered, not how much Clark would be trying to bother him.

He knocked on the door and after a moment and a muffled shout, the door opened and Clark stood on the threshold, letting out a wave of smoky air. He’d shed his leather jacket, but he was wearing the same t-shirt and jeans as he had the day before, and they looked as though they’d been slept in. The bed was untouched, but there was a pillow on the couch, and Sam guessed he’d slept there. He wondered why he hadn’t used the bed instead of the couch which, if it was the same as the one in Mary’s room, was hard and lumpy according to Bobby. 

“Come on in then,” Clark said. “We can’t do anything with you loitering outside.”

Sam hadn’t moved deeper into the room as Clark had been blocking him, but he didn’t point that out, wanting to get things started on an amicable footing.

He stepped inside and paused as Clark closed the door behind him and gestured to a chair at the table. “Sit,” he instructed. 

Sam obeyed and set the bottle down in the middle of the table. Clark snatched it up and broke the seal and took a swig then gasped.

“You’re a promising student already, Sam,” he said. “Keep listening to instructions like that, you’ll go far.”

He set the bottle down and took a packet of cigarettes from beside the bed and lit one before pulling the chair around so he was sitting closer to Sam. He blew out a cloud of smoke into Sam’s face and grinned. “You mind?”

Sam coughed slightly and said, “No”

He did mind, a lot, but there was no point saying it. The second-hand smoke was probably going to screw with his chest which still felt a little restricted, but he wasn’t going to give Clark what he wanted. He thought if he complained, he was going to get another face full of smoke, a theory confirmed when Clark blew the next cloud away from him.

“So you’re here and looking pretty eager,” Clark said, “So let’s throw ourselves right into it.” He pulled an overflowing ashtray over to him and said, “First things first, let’s go over the ground rules. Do what I say when I say it. I’m giving up my time here for a shaky deal to help you, and I don’t want to waste it.”

“What is the deal?” Sam asked curiously, realizing that Missouri hadn’t said anything about how this man, clearly not a philanthropist, had been persuaded to come help him?”

Clark’s brow creased. “I don’t like questions, but I’ll answer that one. Mosely is doing an exchange with me. I am helping you, and she’s going to help me with what I need.”

Sam opened his mouth to ask another question, and then snapped it closed again, remembering that Clark didn’t like questions.

Clark seemed to know what he was going to ask though, as he answered the unspoken question. “I’m looking for something, and Mosely is going to help me find it.”

Sam wanted to know what he was looking for, but he didn’t ask.

Looking pleased, Clark pushed up the sleeve of his shirt and rubbed his arm. Sam saw a tattoo there. It was a symbol he recognized as an anti-possession sigil. He’d seen it in one of the books of demonology.

“Nice tattoo,” he said, wanting to lead Clark into an explanation.

Clark grinned. “Keeps me from getting possessed. You might want to think about getting one, too. If your family really _are_ going after a demon, you’d be better off not being possessed by one.”

Sam realized it was actually a very good idea, and he thanked him.

Clark shrugged away his words and pushed up his other sleeve to reveal another tattoo. It was a spider’s web with an italicized five at the center.

“Five year stretch in San Quentin,” Clark said proudly. “That’s my memento.”

“What did you do?” Sam asked before he could stop himself. He wanted to know what his ‘teacher’ had done to earn time in California’s most violent jail. 

Clark’s lips pressed into a thin line and then he grinned. “Questions… I’ll make you a deal. If it’s not about what we’re doing here, I’ll answer one of yours if you answer one of mine.”

“But I can ask about what we’re doing?” Sam checked.

Clark shrugged. “Sure. That’s the deal I’ve got with Mosely.”

Sam nodded. “Okay, ask.”

“Are your mom and big brother chasing a demon?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“My question,” Sam said. “What did you do?”

Clark looked annoyed but answered. “First degree aggravated battery with a deadly weapon. I was exorcising a demon and I got carried away. The meatsuit tagged me and I got captured when pulled over for speeding a few days later. Why are they going after a demon?”

Sam shook his head. “We had a deal. I don’t have any more questions.”

Clark glowered at him and then shrugged. “You will though. I can wait for something _really_ pressing to come along.”

Sam was sure he would, but he would keep his secret as long as he could. He didn’t like the idea of this man knowing about the demon coming for him.

Clark drew on his cigarette again and looked thoughtful. “Okay. Let’s get down to why we’re here. You. You already know you have potential, probably more than you even realize, so I want to know what’s presented already.”

“Visions,” Sam said. “They were dreams at first, but I’ve had a couple when I’ve been awake. They were bad things, people getting hurt, but the two I’ve had when I was awake were just regular things happening to people I know.”

“And how do they feel when you have them?”

“In the vision it’s like I’m there. I can see, hear and feel everything. It’s so clear. After the visions… it’s like a migraine from hell. It almost cripples me completely.”

“Because it’s being fought,” Clark said knowingly and then leered. “Got another question, Sam? Want to know what’s really fighting?”

Sam did, but he wasn’t going to ask. He didn’t want to know enough to tell Clark about The Demon.

He shook his head.

“You will,” Clark said confidently. “I can wait.” He drew on his cigarette again and then stubbed it out, spilling ash over the sides of the ashtray onto the table. “Visions don’t interest me. You’re already having them, so they’re old and boring. I want something new to play with. How do you feel about a little eavesdropping?”

Sam frowned. “What?”

Clark grinned and grabbed Sam’s hand. He gripped it so tight it was painful and said, “Take a breath. We’re going on a trip.”

Sam obeyed, feeling nervous, and before he could exhale, his head swam and he choked.

It was the strangest thing to ever happen to him. He was rising above himself, looking down at his body where it sat in the chair, blank-eyed and still with Clark gripping his hand, and then he was moving. He felt himself being tugged along. They moved higher and then rushed forward, passing through other rooms, some empty, some occupied. He saw a woman changing bedsheets in one, and a middle-aged man having sex with a far younger woman that hadn’t taken off her red spike heels in another. They kept moving until they came to a stop in a familiar room.

Mary and Dean were sitting at the table with the laptop running and books open in front of them. Neither were reading though. Dean was glowering out of the window, and Mary was frowning at him. When Mary spoke, her voice came as clear as if Sam was in the room with them.

“He’ll be fine, Dean. I understand why you’re worried, I am, too, but Sam can take care of himself.”

“Can he?” Dean asked. “He’s not a hunter.”

“This isn’t about physical danger. This is emotional and mental, and Sam is strong in that.”

Dean glowered still looking out of the window. “I know, and I get it, but that Clark… I don’t trust him.”

“Missouri does,” Mary pointed out. “And Sam trusts her.”

“Maybe she’s wrong.”

Mary sighed. “Maybe she is. We won’t know until Sam tells us what’s happening there. Just try to relax now. We can talk to him when he gets back.”

Sam wanted to hear Dean’s answer, but he was being dragged backwards though the rooms, over the middle-aged man’s pumping hips and the woman’s bored expression but passionate cries, the maid’s swift movements as she smoothed the clean bedding, and then Sam was gasping in Clark’s room again. He flexed his arms and found they were stiff but his own to control.

Clark laughed. “Astral projection. What do you think?”

Sam shuddered. “That was…”

“Pretty cool, right?”

Sam was thinking more that it was wrong, an invasion of privacy, not to mention disconcerting, but he didn’t think it was worth telling Clark that. He would probably be amused.

“It was different,” he said.

Clark nodded happily and said, “Your brother doesn’t trust me. What do you think? Do _you_ trust me?”

“I don’t know yet,” Sam said honestly. “I think you’re really going to help me though, even if it’s just because you want Missouri to help _you_.”

“You’re right.” Clark stretched his shoulders. “Want to talk about what else we heard? Big brother doesn’t think you’re up to the task. He thinks you’re a delicate snowflake that needs protecting.”

Sam’s hands fisted unconsciously. “That’s not what he said.”

“It’s what he meant, though, and you know it. How does it feel?”

“Is that a question?” Sam asked.

Clark laughed. “Not one worth dealing over, no. Coolness aside, that’s something you should be able to do soon, but we’re not starting with it. For you to do it alone, you need to find a calm place in your mind, and you’re not there right now. We’re going to start with something a little more passionate. You might not acknowledge it, but I imagine you’re at least a little angry right now, so we’re going to put that power to use.”

He leaned back in his seat and pointed at the pillow on the couch. With a smug smile, he raised his hand and the pillow lifted from the couch and drifted towards the bed where it set down neatly.

Sam gaped between the bed and Clark, at a loss for words. Missouri had spoken about telekinesis, she’d even said it was an ability Clark had, but hearing it and seeing it were two different experiences. It was so controlled. Despite what Dean had said, Sam thought it would be more about moving things with force than passing Bobby books. Clark had perfect control though.

“I can do that?” he asked.

“Not yet, but you will if you work hard enough. That’s something you’ve got to commit to, Sam. As much as I want Mosely helping me, I’m not wasting precious months of time in which I could be on the hunt for my own target while you angst and whine over what you can and can’t do. You have to give it your all. If I don’t think you’re trying hard enough, I’m taking off.”

“I’m committed,” Sam said seriously.

He didn’t particularly want to be. He was more at peace with his visions and potential now than he ever had been before, but it was still difficult to think that he was a psychic, a freak. He would give almost anything to be back at Stanford with Jess, working hard in his senior year and planning for the future. In fact, the only thing he wouldn’t sacrifice for it was his family.

He got it though. He _was _psychic, he apparently had the ability to do things like move objects with his mind and astral projection, so he was going to do what he had to do to learn to control it. 

Clark eyed him for a moment and then said, “I think you are. Okay then. Move the pillow.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. Was he seriously supposed to do it just like that?

“How?” he asked.

Clark shrugged. “Just try. Concentrate and imagine it moving.”

Feeling stupid and frustrated, Sam fixed his eyes on the pillow and tried to imagine it lifting. He felt nothing give and it didn’t move. It wasn’t like when the visions came. He had no ‘tells’ to show the power was alive and the vision was waiting. He just felt stupid. He focused and willed it to move, wishing for even a twitch, but nothing happened.

He sighed and said, “I can’t do it.”

“Because you’re not trying,” Clark said. “Maybe this is a waste of time already. You don’t really want to learn from me.”

“I do! But I don’t know how. I don’t feel anything there. The visions are different.”

“I already told you, I don’t care about visions. They’re boring. Mosely can help you with them. This is what I want from you. Now _make it move_!” His voice rose to a shout. 

Sam jolted and stared at the pillow again, feeling the heat of anger building in him. His face flushed and he yanked off his jacket and threw it onto the floor, feeling constricted.

“Again,” Clark commanded.

Sam narrowed his eyes and willed the pillow to move. His attention was so focused that he didn’t realize Clark was reaching for him again until his hands closed around his scarred arm. It was sensitive, and the touch jolted his attention away from the pillow to the hand gripping him. He didn’t like it. No one but him had touched the burn since he’d left the hospital and started applying the ointment himself. The pitted and ridged skin was ugly and unpleasant to touch, but that wasn’t what bothered him. It was that it was a reminder of what had happened that made him uncomfortable.

He tried to yank it free, but Clark’s grip was strong, and he held it fast a moment longer before releasing him and leaning back with a satisfied smile.

“Move the pillow,” he said.

Wrongfooted and confused, Sam turned his attention to the pillow again, trying to ignore the way his temples throbbed with anger.

“That was quite some fire,” Clark said conversationally. “You were lucky to get out. You were lucky your friend was there.”

Sam’s attention broke and his eyes snapped to Clark, his heart pounding. “How do you know about Brady?”

“Move the pillow, Sam,” he said again in lieu of an answer.

Sam cursed but turned his attention back to the bed. He squinted his eyes and focused his mind away from thoughts of the fire and onto making the pillow move.

“Who’s Jess?” Clark asked quietly.

“Shut up,” Sam snapped, still looking at the pillow. He thought he knew now what Clark was trying to do—make him angrier so he could tap into his power—but it was hard to concentrate. “Don’t talk about her.”

Clark chuckled and said in a whisper. “That’s a hell of a way to go, fire. Must have hurt like hell.”

“Shut up!” Sam shouted, his eyes snapping to Clark and his hands fisting. 

Seeming unconcerned, Clark looked slowly from Sam to the bed and grinned. “Well done.”

Sam’s eyes followed his and he saw that blankets on the bed were bare and the pillow was on the floor in the corner. He gaped at it. “I did that?”

Clark nodded. “You did. Well done. I knew you could. You just needed a little motivation. A little more anger.”

Sam glowered at him. “That was messed up.”

Clark shrugged. “To you, maybe. To me, it was progress.” He stood and walked to the corner and picked up the pillow. He tossed it back onto the bed and said, “Give yourself a minute. I’m guessing your head is feeling pretty tender right now, and I don’t want you hemorrhaging out of your nose.”

Sam realized as he said it that his head was hurting. It wasn’t as bad as the pain that came with a vision, but it still made him squeeze his eyes shut and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“So, who is Jess?” Clark asked.

“No deal,” Sam said.

Clark sighed. “Okay, no deal.”

“How did you know about her?” Sam asked. “What did you see when you touched me?”

Clark leered. “Is that a _question_?”

“It’s about my powers, so yes, but you don’t get one in return.”

“Should have known that would come back to bite me on the ass. Okay, I saw the fire starting and I heard you shouting; I saw someone grabbing you and bundling you out of the place. Good friend you got there, Sam. He saved your life.”

“How did you see it?” Sam asked.

“It’s called psychometry. I can connect to memories and feelings attached to an object or person through touch. Your scar is particularly potent. You should be able to do it, too, eventually. It takes practice and will. You have to _want_ to feel it. It’s not like you can flip a switch and feel all things all times.”

Sam was relieved. He didn’t want to be blasted with thoughts and feelings every time he touched something. He wasn’t sure he wanted to do it at all.

Clark opened the bottle of whiskey again and took a swig and gasped. “While we’re sharing, or maybe taking in my case, I figure I should apologize. I wanted you angry, and it worked, but I shouldn’t have used that memory on you. I know better.”

Sam frowned at him. “You lost someone, too?”

Clark nodded. “A long time ago. Is it a question?”

Sam considered. “That depends. What do you want to know in return?”

“Who’s Jess?”

Sam didn’t answer straight away, deciding whether he wanted to know about Clark’s loss enough to share his own. He decided he didn’t. He wanted Jessica to be private.

“No,” he said. “It’s not a question.”

“Okay,” Clark said. “Storytime over. Back to work. Move that pillow again.” When Sam sighed, he added. “I can help you out if you like. It doesn’t have to be loss that triggers you. I know all kinds of things that you don’t want to talk about. I saw so much when I met your family.”

“No,” Sam said, his tone confident though inwardly he felt a flicker of fear about what he might hear. “I don’t need that again. I can do it.”

“Show me then.”

Sam clenched his fists, staring at the pillow and imagining it moving. He thought it would be easier now he knew what he was doing, how it had felt before.

He was wrong. 


	14. Chapter 14

Mary and Dean were taking a break from the books, sitting together at the table with the coffees Dean had made. Neither were getting anything good out of the journals because their heads weren’t in it. They were with Sam and Clark, wondering what was happening there.

Mary was stressed, but Dean seemed ever more so. He had been on edge all morning. Mary tried to soothe him, but he had reached that point of stressed and angry in which nothing could reach him. It didn’t happen often to Dean, but when it did, you just had to let it run its course.

Mary was trying to engage him in conversation about the journal she’d read when there was a knock on the door. Dean leapt to his feet to answer, and Sam stood just outside, his breath misting in the cold air. Dean stepped back and ushered him in, and Sam came in and dropped into the chair Dean had vacated.

He looked exhausted. There were shadows under his eyes and his face was drawn. He didn’t even seem to have the energy to take off his coat.

“What the hell happened to you?” Dean asked. “What did he do?”

Sam frowned. “Clark?”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and nodded stiffly. “Yes, Clark.”

“Nothing,” Sam said wearily.

“Then why do you look like you’re about to drop?”

“I’m just tired. It’s hard work, what we’re doing.”

Dean looked like he wanted to say more, and from the look on his face, Mary thought it was going to be something ugly, so she intervened before he could. “What were you doing?”

Sam shrugged. “Not much.”

Dean scowled and opened his mouth to answer, but Mary held up a hand to him and he snapped it closed again.

Sam clearly didn’t want to talk about what they’d been doing, and she thought they needed to respect that. What he was doing was going to be hard on him, they’d all known that going in, and if he didn’t want to share, it was his choice. She had no right to push him when she had her own secrets.

Sam yawned widely, covering his mouth and his eyes squeezing closed.

“Do you want to sleep a while?” Mary asked.

“Maybe later,” Sam said, his eyes blinking tiredly. “I’ve got a few hours before he wants me back. He’s crashing now. I wanted to talk to you first.”

Dean got up and poured a cup of coffee for Sam then handed it to him and said, “Get that down you.”

Sam thanked him and sipped it quickly.

“What do you want to talk about?” Dean asked. 

“Clark,” Sam said. “He can astral project. He showed me.” He bit his lip. “We were in here when you were talking about how you don’t trust him, Dean.”

Dean eyes widened and his face flushed with anger. “He was spying on us!”

“Only for a minute.”

Dean’s hands fisted, and his mouth opened and closed as he tried to find words to express his feelings. Mary understood how he felt, and she wasn’t pleased that they’d been spied on, but she was also intrigued.

“Is that something you’ll be able to do, too?” she asked.

“He thinks so,” Sam said. “It’ll take time to learn, but I think everything is going to take time to learn.”

Dean seemed to gain control of himself again, and he said in a hearty voice. “That’s going to be pretty useful, Sam. You can get us all kinds of inside information.”

“You just threw a tantrum because Clark did that to you,” Sam pointed out.

“One, it wasn’t a tantrum. I don’t throw tantrums. It was an adult expression of anger. Two, I’m guessing you’re not going to do it to us. That was the part I didn’t like. Three, this is all good, Sam. The more you learn, the better.”

Sam shrugged. “I guess. I got something else useful from him. Clark has a tattoo. Actually, he has two, but the one I’m talking about is the important one. It’s an anti-possession symbol. He says it stops him being possessed by demons.”

Dean sucked in a slow breath. “That’s awesome. Does it work?”

“I think so,” Sam said. “I can’t see why it wouldn’t. I read about it in one of the books Mom brought back. People have them on charms, and they’re on warded boxes. I think we should get them, too.”

Mary considered, marveling at the ingenuity of the idea. She’d never thought of it before, but this could really help them. If they were impossible to possess, it would give them an advantage over the demons.

“Yes,” she said wonderingly. “We’re doing it.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “_You_ are getting a tattoo, Mom?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… it doesn’t exactly fit your professional image.”

Sam chuckled.

Mary rolled her eyes. “You think I can decapitate a vampire on the run but I’m going to get precious over a tattoo? I’m not getting it put on my forehead, boys. I can get it somewhere easy to conceal. Come on, grab your coat. We’re going now.”

Sam got to his feet, but Dean hesitated.

“What?” Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Dean?” Mary prompted.

Dean shrugged. “It’s just a little weird. Mom is Miss Private Investigator, and you’re going to be Mr. Top Lawyer one day. Occult looking tattoos just don’t fit the image.”

Sam grinned, and for a moment Mary puzzled over it. And then she felt a thrill of pleasure as she thought she’d worked out what had pleased her youngest son. Dean had been talking about Sam’s future as a lawyer without doubt in his voice.

They hadn’t spoken about it before, and she wasn’t sure if Dean and Sam had alone, but with everything that had and was happening, Sam’s future had become evading the demon and developing his powers. She thought that Sam might have doubted he could have what he had worked towards for years. She was glad it was being addressed now. Sam _did _have a future past them stopping the demon, and she’d forgotten that in the face of everything else. She was pleased Dean had reminded them of it.

“Coat, Dean,” she commanded, pulling on her own and zipping it. “We’re going.”

xXx

They got to a tattoo parlor in town, and Mary parked the jeep a little down the street. Sam was out of the car and walking to the door before Dean had even undone his seatbelt and Mary had climbed out.

She peered in through the open door and said, “What’s the hold up, Dean?” She frowned. “You’re not afraid, are you?”

“No!” Dean said, looking scandalized. “I just feel like I’ve stepped into The Twilight Zone. It’s just going to take me a minute.”

“Minute’s up,” she said. “Let’s go.”

She slammed the door and followed Sam up the street, hearing the Jeep’s door close behind her. Dean fell into step at her side, and they walked to the tattooist where Sam was waiting. When they reached him, he pushed open the door and entered.

The room was decorated with deep red wallpaper and framed prints of tattoo designs on the walls. There was a counter behind which a bored looking teenager with piercings decorating his ear, lips, and eyebrows sat. He looked up slowly and said, “Any of you Carl Briggs?” truculently.

Mary exchanged surprised looks with Sam and Dean and said, “Uh, no.”

“Do you _have _an appointment?”

“No,” Mary said.

The kid cracked his knuckles. “Then, unless you’re here to book one, we can’t help you.”

Dean stepped forward, his brows low over his eyes, and Mary caught his arm and pulled him back. She was sure he was still angry about Clark and would probably appreciate the chance to vent on this kid, but she didn’t want him raging at him, even though he was annoying her, too.

“Can we just speak to someone?” she asked sweetly. “We just want a consultation.”

The kid shrugged and called over his shoulder. “Kelli, people!”

A red curtain opened behind the counter and a woman with violently blue hair stepped out. She was so petite she probably wouldn’t reach Sam’s chest, and she also had an abundance of piercings on her face, including one—Mary wasn’t quite sure how it worked—through her cheek. Tattoos curled up her chest and throat from under her black shirt and the backs of her hands were covered in intricate patterns of roses.

Mary wasn’t sure what she was expecting when the woman spoke, but it wasn’t the carefully modulated and unaccented voice of a newsreader. “Can I help you?”

“We need tattoos,” Mary said.

“They’re not in the book,” the kid said, tapping the leather-bound tome in front of him. 

“Then we’ll book now,” Mary said. “The sooner the better.” She wanted to get the tattoos as fast as they could, the sooner to protect them, but if they had to, they would wait.

The woman considered them and shrugged. “Depends what you want, but I can probably fit you in now.”

Mary took the page she’d taken from her journal with the symbol on it and handed it over. “This is what we need. All of us.”

The woman, Kelli, examined it and said, “Sure. Come on through. Gregg, call Briggs and tell him we’ll have to reschedule him.”

The kid scowled. “You sure?”

“I am,” Kelli said. “The fact I pay you means I get to be sure.” She pulled back to curtain and gestured them through. 

Dean shot the kid a smug smile as he walked through the opening, followed by Sam. Mary thanked the kid and went after them into a room with a black leather couch and a table that looked as though it belonged in a hospital.

“Thanks for doing this for us,” Mary said. “We’ll pay extra.”

“Thanks,” Kelli said cheerfully. “It’s not a hardship to cancel him though. Briggs is known for getting tattoos with his latest love’s name on it and then coming back to me to blank them out when they break up. That’s no problem, it’s an easy job, but listening to him whine about where it all went wrong isn’t.” She laughed. “Who’s first?”

“Me,” Mary said, unzipping her coat and laying it on the arm of the couch as Dean and Sam did the same and sat down. She unbuttoned her shirt and slid the strap of her vest down her right shoulder, saying, “I want it here,” as she patted her collarbone.

“Sure thing,” Kelli said. “Get comfortable.”

Mary laid down on the couch and took a breath. She wasn’t afraid of pain, hunting sometimes meant pain, but she was uncertain of how it would feel. 

Kelli took the journal page to a desk and quickly sketched a copy of the image onto another piece of paper. Dean and Sam watched her carefully from their place as she worked, and then they smiled reassuringly at Mary as Kelli pulled up a rolling chair to the table and said, “Ready?”

When Mary nodded, she grinned and said, “Then let’s get to work.”

xXx

Mary dropped Sam and Dean off at the motel after they’d all had their tattoos done, instructing them to eat some lunch and then for Sam to rest a while and Dean to take an afternoon off of the journals—not that she expected either of them to really listen—and then drove to Missouri’s.

There was an unfamiliar car parked outside her house, and Mary guessed she was with a client, so she sent Missouri a text letting her know she was there and then settled in the car to wait, the radio set to a classic rock station. This music was part of their life and her sons’ childhoods. It had been John’s favorite, and they’d listened to it on the road. Dean liked the music for itself and for memories, whereas Sam listened patiently, even affectionately, as it was a connection to the father he couldn’t remember. Dean still had memories of John playing it to him.

Mary used to complain about John playing it, saying it wasn’t exactly soothing to a child, but Dean had still been able to sing along to the chorus of Ramble On by his fourth birthday, and she’d given up then. Sam had no memory of the music’s connection to his father, but he’d heard the stories, and he had always connected with their stories. They were all he had.

She had to wait only five minutes before Missouri’s door opened and a burly man walked out followed by Missouri. Mary unfolded herself from the seat and passed the man on the path as she walked to the door.

“Sorry for just arriving,” Mary said. “I didn’t think you’d be busy.”

“It’s fine. Carl was a last-minute booking. He just broke up with his girlfriend but wanted some reassurance it was the right thing. He said he had a ‘sign’ that made him doubt.”

Mary laughed as she followed Missouri inside. “Let me guess. The sign was his tattoo fix-up being canceled?”

Missouri smiled widely. “You took his spot. Nice work, Mary. Any other time you want to drive business my way, go ahead.”

Mary felt no confusion about how Missouri had known as she was used to having her mind read by her old friend.

Missouri closed the door behind them and led her into the kitchen. “You mind if I work while we talk?” she asked. “I was doing some baking.”

“Of course not,” Mary said, taking a seat at the table.

Missouri took a bowl from the cupboard and cracked eggs into it and began to beat them. “How’s everything going with Clark?” she asked.

Mary appreciated the fact she was asking and not just taking the answer from her mind, and she considered her answer.

“Sam was with him a couple hours this morning. I’m not exactly sure what happened between them, but Sam was exhausted when he got back. He’s going back to him later.”

Missouri nodded and set down the bowl of eggs and began to cream sugar and butter together. “That’s good.”

“He didn’t tell us much about what they did together though,” Mary said.

Missouri stopped for a moment and looked at her. “And that bothers you?”

“No,” Mary said quickly. 

Missouri raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I want him to have privacy for this. He needs to be able to keep his secrets. I am keeping mine. It’s just different. Sam was always so open before. Since the fire… he’s so different.”

Missouri nodded slowly. “He would be. It’s not just the fire. He went through a trauma, he lost the woman he loves, he was sideswiped by the emergence of his gift, and he now knows there is a demon on his tail. It’s a lot for anyone to deal with, including you and Dean. It’s probably harder for you than Sam.”

“No! We’re not the ones that are in danger,” Mary said fervently. “It’s about Sam.”

“Exactly. You and Dean are hunters, protectors, and now the person you both love is the one that needs protection, and you don’t have the weapon that can do it. And now you’re dealing with Clark, too. He’s not the easiest person to be around.”

“He’s not,” Mary agreed. “I hate that we have to rely on him. Sam told us he spied on me and Dean.”

Missouri sighed. “I wondered if he would. That astral projection is a powerful thing, and he has been known to abuse it. It’s a good skill for him to show Sam though. If Sam can master that, it would help him a lot.”

“So that he can spy, too?” Mary asked, remembering Dean’s reaction.

“No, so he can protect himself and others. If he can master it, he won’t be bound by geographical limits. He will be able to go anywhere and see anything if he can just learn the control.”

“And how will that help him?” Mary asked.

“It will help him as, if he can connect to him somehow, he can find The Demon and tell you what he is planning.”

Mary realized that could be pivotal in them winning the fight that was coming, and it made her stomach swoop to think that there could be a way to see The Demon and know what it was doing and planning. She didn’t like that it was Sam that was going to have to do it though. She wanted to protect him from all parts of The Demon, not send him looking for it.

“I can help you get a little privacy,” Missouri said, putting down her spoon and going to a drawer where she took a swatch of fabric and began to tip ingredients from jars and bags onto it. She twisted it closed and tied it with a piece of cord. “Here. This won’t keep him out, but it will stop him listening.” She put it down on the table in front of Mary and said. “Keep that close.”

Mary thanked her, thinking of how much better Dean would feel knowing Clark couldn’t eavesdrop on their conversations.

Missouri began to stir her bowl again, and said, “He doesn’t mean it maliciously, you know.”

“He’s not doing it for our benefit though.”

“No. But perhaps he was doing it for someone else’s. Sam’s maybe.”

Mary sighed. “I wish you’d warned us though.”

Missouri turned, cradling the bowl against her stomach. “If you had known what he was like and what he was capable of, would you have brought Sam here?”

“Yes,” Mary said without hesitation.

“Perhaps…” Missouri looked thoughtful.

“I would. I don’t think I like him, he’s abrasive and rude, but he’s here to help Sam. What I hate is that I have to rely on him to do what I can’t. It was always me and Bobby giving the boys what they needed when they were growing up, and then they started to do the same for us. The four of us were all we needed. Now I have to trust other people to do it. It was okay when it was you, but now it’s Clark.” She shook her head. “I am trusting him with one of the two most precious people in my world, and I can’t help but worry he’ll hurt him.”

“He won’t hurt Sam,” Missouri said confidently. “He might make him uncomfortable, and he _is_ going to push him hard, but he is essentially a good person at heart. He is what Sam needs.” She smiled. “Besides, he knows better than to upset me if he wants me to keep up my end of the deal.”

Mary hadn’t thought about why Clark was helping Sam. He clearly wasn’t the kind of person that would do it out of the goodness of his heart, so what was motivating him?

“Are you paying him?” she asked.

“In a way,” Missouri said. “Not money. I have something he wants, and I have promised I will give it to him if he does this for me.

“What does he want?”

Missouri turned away and began to root in a cupboard again. “That’s his story to tell. I haven’t told anyone your secret, and I am affording the same respect to Clark.” When she turned back to face Mary, she looked sad. “I don’t know anything for sure, and I know it’s not me and can’t be Clark, but something is telling me that secret is only going to be yours alone for a little longer.”

Mary felt an icy finger of fear running down her spine and she shivered. “Someone is going to tell them about my deal?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling, but it is strong. It might be better for you to preempt it and tell them yourself. It would be better coming from you than someone else?”

Mary’s heart skipped and then pounded on. She couldn’t tell them the truth, ever, but if someone else did…

The only people that knew about her deal were her, Missouri and The Demon himself. If it wasn’t her or Missouri that would tell them, was it The Demon? Or had he told someone else that would share the secret, another demon maybe? A demon would be happy to spill the secret to Sam and Dean.

“It could be a demon,” Missouri said, clearly following her thoughts. “I don’t know anything for sure. I’m just warning you about what I feel.”

“Are your feelings ever wrong?” Mary asked.

Missouri winced and her eyes became sad. “Yes. I hurt the person _I _love most because I was wrong recently.”

“Then you have to be wrong this time, too,” Mary said decisively.

Missouri’s face creased with sadness as she said, “I could be, but, Mary, I really don’t think I am.”

“You are.” Mary was filled with certainty. “I will stop it. If there is someone else that knows, a demon, I will stop them before they have a chance to say anything.” She stared into Missouri’s eyes, her own blazing with emotion. “I will not lose them.”

“Okay,” Missouri said. “I’ll help if I can. If I see anything coming, I will tell you.”

“Thank you,” Mary said, getting to her feet. “I should get back to the motel.” 

She wanted to make sure Sam rested and that Dean gave himself a break, but more than that she wanted to be close to them. She felt a pressing need, overpowering everything else, to look at her sons and tell them she loved them, that she would take care of them, and if she possibly could stop it, she would never let their hearts be broken again.

She would protect them with her life. 


	15. Chapter 15

Sam zipped his coat and walked to the door. “I’ll see you later,” he said.

Mary looked up from the laptop and smiled. “Good luck.”

“Yeah,” Dean said distractedly. “And make sure you tell us if your buddy is spying on us again.”

“I already told you he can’t,” Mary pointed out. “Missouri gave us that hex bag.”

Dean glowered down at his lap. “He can’t hear us, but he can still watch. I don’t want that asshole peeping in on me on the can.”

Sam laughed. “I don’t think he’s going to be tempted to do that, Dean.”

“I wouldn’t put anything past him,” Dean said darkly.

Sam shrugged, muttered a goodbye, and went outside into the cold air.

Dean’s obvious dislike of Clark was difficult for him to deal with. He didn’t want to go into that room resenting the man that would teach him, but it was hard not to when Sam thought of how upset his brother was.

Sam didn’t like Clark, but he respected him. He _was_ helping Sam.

He didn’t have control of his telekinesis, he’d only managed to make the pillow twitch in the hours they’d spent working the afternoon before, but he was doing something now which was progress. It was exhausting and he’d gone to bed with a headache, but he was gratified that he was doing something. 

He reached Clark’s door and knocked. He heard muffled movements inside before the door opened and Clark was revealed on the threshold. He had obviously just showered as his hair was dripping onto the towel around his shoulders, and he was bare-chested, but he still managed to look grimy in his dirty jeans. He had shaved, too, which made him looked younger—making Sam guess he age closer to mid-forties than fifties—but the most striking change were the scars that were revealed on his chest. There were a lot of them, and some of them looked bad. There was one that crossed from his right lower ribs to his left hip that Sam thought could have easily been a fatal wound. 

“Quite something, aren’t they,” Clark said, a flicker of amusement on his face. “Come in. You’re letting the heat out.”

“What happened to you?” he asked, coming in and closing the door behind him before taking off his coat and dropping it onto the still neatly-made bed.

Clark hesitated a moment and then said, “I’ll give you that one for free. Demons happened. You don’t spend twenty years hunting them without getting a little knocked around. Luckily, I’m a quickdraw with exorcisms.”

“You must be,” Sam said with respect.

Dean and Mary had scars from hunting, but they were all from minor injuries. These were signs of serious damage. 

“Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be right with you,” Clark said, a mocking edge to his voice.

Sam sat down and watched as Clark toweled his hair dry and then pulled on a clean looking shirt. He tossed the towel into the bathroom and then set the pillow down on the middle of the bed and said, “Ready?”

The honest answer was no; Sam didn’t feel ready at all. He didn’t feel the anger he apparently needed to do this. He didn’t want to tell Clark that, though, as he didn’t want him to start with his method of motivation by pushing Sam’s buttons.

He focused on the pillow and tried to move it, but it didn’t even twitch.

Clark sighed and lit a cigarette. “So… it’s going to be a long day,” he said, blowing smoke at Sam.

Sam’s chest still felt tight from the day before that he’d spent inhaling Clark’s secondhand smoke, and he started to cough.

“Are you always that much of a snowflake?” Clark asked.

Sam felt a surge of irritation. “I had pneumonia recently,” he said. “I’m still struggling a little.”

Clark groaned and got to his feet to open a window. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, taking a draw on the cigarette and blowing the smoke out of the window. “I’m not too much of an asshole to open a window, Sam, despite the fact it’s freezing out there.” He smirked. “Though I’m guessing you have a different opinion on that.”

“I don’t think you’re an asshole,” Sam said.

Clark raised an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

“No,” Sam said honestly. “I don’t particularly like you, and you’re annoying, but that doesn’t make you bad.”

“I don’t particularly like you either,” Clark said, blowing another stream of smoke out of the window. “But you have something I want, or more specifically you can get me something I want from Mosely, so you’re not bad either. You’re just a little… pure for me.”

Sam laughed. “I’m pure?”

He was a psychic that had failed his girlfriend, getting her killed, and his father, too, but he was pure? That was the ultimate joke.

“Maybe pure is the wrong word,” Clark said, flicking his cigarette out of the window and closing it before coming to sit down. “You’re good. You want to be and do good, your whole family does. And there’s that thing between you all. It’s…”

“Love?” Sam suggested.

“I was going to say annoying, but love probably covers it. I see the connections between you all, the way your auras fit. And there’s the fact you would die for each other. It’s just a little too much for me to stomach.”

“How do you know we’d die for each other?” Sam asked. “Have you been listening to them?”

He knew he couldn’t hear them now, but he wondered how much had been said before. He’d not been present for a deep conversation, but he guessed Mary and Dean could have discussed it.

“I’ve not been listening since you cut me off—I’m guessing that was Mosely—but I can _see_ it in you all. I can see the way you’re connected. It’s unusually strong. Your mom I get, she’s got the whole momma bear thing going on, maternal instinct and all that, but then there’s you and your brother. You’re like… I don’t know.”

Sam thought he did know, but he was glad Clark had stopped himself saying it. He didn’t want the bond he had with Dean to be discussed with this practical stranger. It was about family, not Clark.

Clark leaned back in his seat and stretched his arms over his head. “Mosely didn’t warn me what you’d be like. I probably wouldn’t have taken the deal if I’d known. Being around that kind of saintly sacrificing nature is grating.”

“She didn’t warn me about you either,” Sam said testily. 

Clark lowered his arms and grinned. “What did she say about me?”

Sam smiled slightly. “Is that a question?”

Clark considered a moment before nodding. “Yeah, it is. I can give you an answer for this. I really want to know what she says about me.”

Sam smirked. “That’s a bad deal. She just told us you were different but an expert.”

“That’s it?” Clark asked. “Nothing about my winning personality and charm?”

“No, she didn’t lie.”

“I guess she wouldn’t. She’s got more than a little saint in her, too. She’s not wrong either. I am different. But so are you, Sam. Me and you, we’re both Superman. I live and love that life. You should, too. Be proud of what you can do. I’m not saying send out an all hunters broadcast, most of them are ignorant idiots scared of anything they can’t do themselves, but your family at least…. Why didn’t you tell them what you did yesterday?”

Sam frowned. “You _were_ watching?”

“Nope, but I guessed you wouldn’t and you just confirmed it. What are you scared of?”

Sam shook his head. “That’s a question, and you already owe me one.” He thought for a moment, deciding which of the many he had he wanted answered, and then said, “What’s blocking me if it’s not grief?”

Clark shook his head. “Bad deal. I’m not sure of the answer. It’s probably a little about your grief, you are pretty messed up, but that’s not all of it. I can’t see what it is, I don’t see it when I touch you, but it’s there. It’s inside you.” He frowned. “Something in your blood.”

Sam felt a chill of fear settle over him. “It’s something in my _blood? _You mean there’s something wrong with me?”

“Probably. Like I said, I can’t see it. But wrong is a strong word. I guess it depends on what your definition of wrong is.”

“What’s your definition?” Sam asked.

Clark pushed his wet hair back from his face and looked away without answering.

Sam wanted to know, but he wasn’t going to waste a question asking. 

“Story time is over, Sam,” Clark said pointing at the bed. “It’s time to get angry. Move the pillow.”

Sam concentrated, trying to build on the annoyance he felt about Clark’s avoidance and his own fear for himself. He wanted to do this, but he couldn’t wrangle his thoughts. He didn’t want Clark triggering him, but he needed to do it.

He narrowed his eyes and willed the pillow to move.

“Stop!” Clark held up a hand. “It’s not going to work like that.”

When Sam looked at him, he realized he was breathing hard as if he’d been running. “Why won’t it work?” he asked breathlessly.

“Because you just flipped from blocking grey to a crappy-ass muddy yellow that means you’re trying too hard but in the wrong way. It’s not what’s in you blocking this time. It’s your own head. What are you scared of?”

“I don’t want you pressing my buttons again,” Sam said. “I can’t talk about Jess again.”

“And I won’t ask you to. I told you I was sorry. I crossed a line. It worked, but I still shouldn’t have done it. You do need to be angry though, so you have to trigger yourself.”

“It’s hard,” Sam said, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Well, duh. If it was easy, I wouldn’t be here and you’d be flying that pillow around the room like Hermione.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You’ve read Harry Potter?”

Clark scowled. “Do I look like I read children’s books? No. I happened to catch the movie with a date that did read them. It was crap. But I picked up a few things. Like the fact CGI is crap when you can do it for real. You can do it for real, so start. Find the anger.”

“I can’t,” Sam said.

“You’re not trying!” Clark growled. “I told you the terms I was here with. You’ve got to put everything you have into this. Okay, stop a moment and breathe. You’re turning blue.”

Sam took a slow breath and relaxed his fisted hands.

“Maybe anger isn’t right for you,” Clark said thoughtfully. “You need something different. It’s got to be powerful though…” He slapped his knee. “Got it. This demon your mom and brother are hunting, why are you doing it? Who is it coming for? You or one of your saintly family.”

Sam looked away. “You don’t need to know that.”

Clark chuckled. “You then. You’d be a lot more scared if it was one of the family. So, it’s about you. That actually makes sense. But your mom and brother are the ones hunting it because you’re _‘not a hunter’_. You’re relying on them to save you.”

Sam’s hands fisted again and then began to shake.

“Look at the pillow, Sam,” Clark commanded, and Sam obeyed.

“You’re defenseless, and if this demon is a smart or powerful one, so are they. So you need to learn this stuff. Unless you want them to be gutted of course. Is that what you want?”

“No!” Sam snarled, his eyes still fixed on the pillow. He knew what Clark was doing, but he knew why and that made him concentrate as the flood of heat filled him.

“Are you sure?” Clark asked. “Because unless you nail this stuff down, it’s what’s going to happen. You will lose everything.”

“No,” Sam growled. “Stop!”

Clark laughed. “Sure, I’ll stop, but before you start shouting, look at what you’re doing.” He pointed at the bed.

Sam blinked and the pillow he had been staring at so hard it had blurred came into focus. It was shaking.

“Move it, Sam,” Clark whispered.

Sam narrowed his eyes and concentrated, the focus breaking as the pillow flew from the bed and hit the wall.

He drew in a gasping breath and huffed a laugh. “I did it!”

“You did,” Clark said smugly. “And you showed me a whole lot I’d been missing. You’re not an angry man. You’re too deeply rooted in blue. I didn’t see it before. Your trigger isn’t just anger; it’s who you’re angry about. It’s the whole saintly love thing you’ve got going on. It was your family today, and yesterday it was Jess. That’s easier to create as those feelings are so close to the surface for someone like you. You love strongly. You just need to tap into the anger at the same time and you’ll be flying crap around in no time.”

Sam rubbed his aching temples. “Will I always have to feel like that to make it work?”

“No. The more you practice, the better control you get, the less you will need emotion. One day it will become as natural as breathing for you. It is for me. You’ve got a long time before that happens though. Years of training. I have been doing this most of my life. You’re only on day two.”

Sam sighed. He wasn’t sure he could handle years of this. He didn’t even want to really. He hoped once he had the basic gist of them, he could stop safely, without it hurting him as Missouri had warned against.

“Take a break,” Clark said, getting up and throwing the window open. He lit a cigarette, drew on it and said, “That’s was actually pretty good, Sam.”

“When you say your whole life…” Sam said. “What does that mean?”

Clark’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s part of a much bigger story. Worth more than the one question I owe you. Answer one of mine, and I’ll tell you a little about it.”

“What do you want to know?” Sam asked.

“Tell me more about this demon.”

“That’s a big one, too.”

“Then tell me where it started,” Clark suggested. “When did this demon come into your life?”

Sam looked away from him and said, “When I was six months old. It came into my nursery one night when my dad was there. It killed my dad.” He chanced a glance at Clark and saw his brow was furrowed. “What?” he asked.

“The demon came into your room, killed your dad, and left?” His brow pinched as he tapped the ash from his cigarette out of the window.

Sam nodded.

Clark drew on his cigarette again and blew smoke rings out of the window, looking supremely unconcerned, but when he spoke his voice was intense. “Tell me everything and I’ll tell you everything. No more deal. Complete honesty.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “_Complete_ honesty?” he queried. 

“I need to know this, so yes.”

Sam nodded. “It came for me when I was a baby, but we don’t know why. It came back a while ago and killed my girlfriend. That was the fire you saw.”

“She was on the ceiling,” Clark murmured, talking to himself.

“Yes,” Sam said. “He killed Jess and my dad in the exact same way.”

“And both times it was there for you?”

“We think so. I was the connection between them. Why?”

Clark frowned. “I’ve heard of them killing for fun and gain, but I can’t see what it would want from you when you were a baby. And why come back all these years later for your girlfriend. That wasn’t just about fun or symmetry. It was there for a reason.”

“We think it’s because I’m psychic,” Sam said. “I already had powers when I was a baby.”

Clark nodded slowly. “I guess it could want a psychic, but why use you when there are hundreds more, already trained, out there waiting for it?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “I wondered the same thing. We think it was in Hell for the years between, but…”

“But it still doesn’t explain why it came to your nursery.” He blew smoke out of his nose and said, “There’s got to be something else about you, Sam.”

Sam felt a twist of anxiety in his stomach. He didn’t want there to be something else. Being psychic was bad enough, but he had comforted himself that there was something simple the demon wanted from his with his visions. If there was something else, he didn’t know what it was, and it scared him.

Clark drew on his cigarette and said, “Break’s over. Back to work.”

Sam sighed.

“If you’re not up for it…” Clark said pointedly, letting the words trail off into tense silence.

“I am,” Sam said with a quick nod. “Just tell me what to do.”

Clark threw away his cigarette, slammed the window closed and said, “The pillow. Make it move. But this time, instead of just your anger, I want you to focus on your love, too.”

Sam didn’t know how he was supposed to do that. He couldn’t just think loving thoughts and hope the anger came with it.

Clark put the pillow back onto the bed and said, “Think about your family, Sam, and the danger they’re in.”

Sam frowned at him. His family were often in danger, they were hunters, and with The Demon to be killed, that danger was heightened.

“Look at the pillow,” Clark said pointedly.

Knowing Clark was about to do something else that was going to hurt him but needing to try, Sam fixed his attention on the pillow and concentrated.

Clark leaned closer and said, “If this demon killed your dad to just get a look at you when you were a baby, what do you think it’s going to do to your mom and brother when it comes back for you?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Which one of them is burning on the ceiling next time.”

Sam shouted in anger and fear and there was the sound of something ripping as his vision blurred to red.

Clark laughed. “That’s more like it!”

Sam blinked to clear his vision, searching for the pillow again to see where it had landed, but it was gone. In its place was scraps of torn cotton and a pile of foam filling spread over the bed and floor.

Sam stared in awe. “Did I do that?” he asked.

Clark chuckled. “Hell yeah you did. How’s the head?”

Sam breathed in and assessed himself, feeling the pounding behind his eyes for the first time. He groaned. “It hurts.”

“It would,” Clark said. “But we’re not stopping yet. I want you to use this feeling and keep going.”

“I exploded the pillow.”

“Yes,” Clark said. “But it’s okay. I’ve got another.” He pointed at the second pillow on the bed and it drifted into the middle of the bed. “Again, Sam,” he commanded.

Sam closed his eyes for a moment, trying to feel past the pain for the fear and anger he’d felt before, and concentrated, willing it to work. A moment later, the pillow began to shake. Sam willed it to lift, his vision reddening at the corners, and it slowly rose into the air. It took immense concentration and his head pounded, but Sam felt a thrill of excitement.

He was doing it.


	16. Chapter 16

Sam worked for the rest of that day on moving the pillow, throwing it around the room with increasing ease.

It was exhausting but satisfying, though his head was pounding by the time he left Clark’s room and went to Mary’s to find his family reading journals and talking. Mary took one look at him and instructed him to go to bed until dinner. No energy to argue, Sam obeyed, and only dragged himself up again two hours later to dull the growling in his stomach that his vending machine lunch with Clark hadn’t stifled.

He crashed again soon after they got back to the motel, and woke the next morning feeling energized and hopeful for what he was going to do next. With the achievement of his progress the day before, he was feeling positive about his training, as if he was finally doing something that really mattered. He could turn telekinesis into an offensive weapon that could help. He couldn’t do that with visions.

He still didn’t tell Mary and Dean what he had been doing though. When they asked, he just assured them it was going well and changed the subject. He knew they would support him and what he was doing with Clark, but that was because they loved him and Missouri’s warnings about his powers being stifled hurting him was still in their thoughts. He didn’t want them really seeing what he was capable of. It was too far from normal.

When he left them after breakfast and walked to Clark’s room, their words of encouragement followed him.

Clark looked tired when he opened the door and gestured Sam in. The room smelled of stale smoke, and Sam saw there was an almost empty bottle of whiskey on the table.

“Sit,” Clark instructed. “We need to get to work.”

Sam expected him to put the pillow on the bed again, ready for Sam to start, but he didn’t. Instead he took a book out of his duffel and dropped it onto the table. “Pick it up,” he instructed.

“I’m not moving it?” Sam asked.

“No, we’re trying something different today. You’ve got the basics of telekinesis down, so you can work on that alone. I want to try you out with psychometry. This should be easier as it’s rooted in the visions you already have. You’re just flipping it on its head. You’re seeing what came before not what’s to come.”

“I’ve seen things that are already happening, too,” Sam said. “I saw my friends in real time, and my concentration broke when I saw them calling me. My phone rang at the same time.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “That’s pretty impressive. You’ve got a better handle on it than I thought. Or maybe it’s just rooted deeper than I realized.” He shrugged. “Whatever. It will help you to do this. Pick it up.”

Sam picked up the book and held it in both hands, feeling the creases in the cover and the paper that warmed against his touch.

“What do I have to do?” he asked. “Do I have to get angry again?”

“Do you for a vision?”

“No. That’s more about calming myself.”

“Then we’ll start with that. Go ahead.”

Instead of slowing as Sam tried to calm himself, his heart began to increase its pace with anxiety. Calm could mean drifting thoughts and that meant Jessica.

He had sworn he would keep trying, even deal with his grief it if came, but he was nervous about it. He didn’t want that kind of pain, not while there was so much more to concentrate on. If he was crippled by grief, he wasn’t going to be able to commit himself to what he was doing with Clark.

“What’s wrong?” Clark said. “You’ve gone all muddy again.”

“I’m just nervous,” Sam said.

“You don’t need to be. This book is mine, and there’s nothing that you’re going to see that will hurt you. I chose it carefully. You’re most likely to see me reading it in college which will be a nice and safe first try. And boring.”

Sam nodded and tried to relax again. He concentrated on the way his muscles felt, hard as rocks, and tried to relax them one by one. When they felt suitably soft, he turned his attention to his breaths. They were coming too fast though. He had nothing to measure them against and lock onto. The last time he’d done this, when waiting for a vision, he’d used Dean’s breaths to regulate his own, but he didn’t want to ask Clark to do that. If felt too intimate.

“Okay, stop for a moment,” Clark said, his irritation obvious. “What’s the problem?”

“I’m not sure what I’m looking for,” Sam said. 

Clark blew out a frustrated breath. “What does it feel like when you have a vision?”

“I get a headache, and I see an aura around objects. There’s a kind of tingling on my scar.”

“And do you feel that now?”

Sam drew his attention in for a moment and assessed what he felt. “I feel something. My headache is building, and there’s definitely an aura. My arm feels normal though.”

“So it’s trying,” Clark said thoughtfully. “Your gift _wants _to see. What do you have to do to open yourself to it?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably. “I need to breathe. Dean helped last time.”

Clark rolled his eyes. “Then ask him to help again. Give him a call.” His eyes brightened. “Get him to bring one of those books they spend all their time reading, an old one. That will have more memories for you to connect to.”

Sam bit his lip. He wasn’t sure he wanted Dean to see this. It was _another _power. It wasn’t the same as being able to make things fly around the room, but it was still different. Did he want Dean seeing this?

“If you don’t call him, I’ll go get them both,” Clark said.

“No,” Sam said quickly. “I’ll call.”

It was bad enough that Dean would have to see, but he didn’t want his mother watching, too. And he didn’t think it would help him relax knowing there was more of an audience that was necessary.

He took his phone from his pocket and hit speed dial.

Dean answered quickly, his tone confused, _“Sammy, you okay?”_

“Yeah. Can you come here for a minute? I need you to do something. And bring one of the journals, an old one.”

_“What’s going on?”_

“I’ll tell you when you get here.”

_“Should I bring Mom?”_

“No, it’s okay,” Sam said, his voice modulated carefully so as not to show the strain. “I just need you.”

_“Be right there.”_

The call disconnected and Sam tucked his phone back into his pocket. “He’s coming.”

“Good,” Clark said with satisfaction. “Let’s see what this self-sacrificing bond can do for you.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Your mom’s not coming though.”

Sam shook his head. “I only need Dean for this.”

“Probably a good idea,” Clark said. “Your mother isn’t exactly a soothing person.” He looked intently at Sam. “It’s all about the aura.”

Sam knew he wanted him to ask more, sure that there was some hidden message behind his words, but he didn’t want to examine it and so didn’t answer.

He got to his feet and went to open the door to wait for Dean. He heard him coming, his footsteps were fast, and when he reached him, his eyes were worried. 

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Sam said, gesturing him in and closing the door behind him. “I just need your help again.”

“Hello, Dean,” Clark said, managing to make the greeting sound threatening.

Dean stiffened. “Hey, asshole.”

“Quit it, both of you!” Sam commanded.

Clark grinned. “Sorry, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam,” he growled, knowing Clark was only using the nickname to bother Dean. He hadn’t called him Sammy once when they’d been alone.

It was obviously working as Dean’s free hand curled into a fist and his fingers dug into the cover of the book he’d brought with him.

Sam tugged the book out of his grip and said, “Sit on the bed, Dean. I need to breathe with you again.”

“Cozy,” Clark said snidely.

Sam glared at him. “Do you want this to work?”

Clark rolled his eyes. “Well, duh.”

“Then stop making it so hard for me to relax.”

Dean shot Clark a smug smile and sat on the bed, his leg curled on the blanket so he could face Sam.

Sam took his seat opposite him and placed his hand on Dean’s chest. “Just like last time,” he said.

“You’re going for a vision again?” Dean asked.

“Not exactly,” Sam said. “I’m trying to see the past. I’ll explain later.”

“It’s psychokinesis,” Clark said. “He’s trying to tap into the memories attached to that book. Now be quiet while your brother concentrates.” His voice became serious. “Close your eyes, Sam, and reach for it. Tell me what you feel?”

Sam pressed his hand tighter to Dean’s chest, feeling it move in and out slowly as Dean’s exaggerated his breaths. After a moment, Dean put his hand over Sam’s and patted it. “I got you, Sammy.”

Sam nodded and tried to clear his mind. It was like the power had been waiting for him to tap into it, as if the book wanted to be seen. Pain built behind his eyes and his scar tingled like it was being tickled by a coarse brush.

“It’s coming,” he said, his voice distant to his own ears. “I can feel it.”

“Good,” Clark said. “What can you smell?”

Sam drew in a deep breath, inhaling the smell of smoke, and then something new came. The smoke changed. It was more like the cheroots Jessica’s artist friend smoked instead of Clark’s Marlboro. There was also the smell of whiskey and something Sam thought was sage. There was also a different scent, something bitter he didn’t recognize.

“I can smell everything,” Sam said quietly.

“Good,” Clark said, his voice echoing. “What can you feel?”

“I’m cold.” Sam shivered as the chill registered.

“Now open your eyes.”

Sam obeyed and found himself in a small shack with wooden walls that was lit by a dim oil lamp on a table. The oil lamp was the least remarkable part of the scene, even though it told Sam he was far away in time from the motel he was physically in. There was a man sitting at the table, wearing a faded brown shirt and black neckerchief. His face was lined, but Sam didn’t think it was just age. It looked more like hard living that had changed him.

He was polishing a gun with a swatch of leather, a very old gun. Sam knew less about weapons than Mary or Dean, much less than Bobby, but this gun had to looked like it had come from frontier days. It would have looked old even in one of Dean’s favorite westerns.

The man set the leather swatch down and ran his finger over the engravings on the barrel. Sam moved closer and saw that, as well as the careful etchings, there were words on the barrel. He squinted at them in the dim light and saw they spelled out _Non Timebo Mala._ He felt a lurch in his stomach. He thought he knew what gun this was.

The man set down the gun and pulled over a bowl to him. In it he tipped a dribble of water from a silver flask, and shook what Sam recognized as sage leaves and something brown from a small, glass bottle. He swirled the bowl to mix the ingredients then took out a small leather bag from his drawer and tipped thirteen bullets into the bowl.

He murmured in Latin, “_Signum est imitandum. Signum est imitandum.”_ and swirled them again. After a moment of staring into the bowl with a look of intense concentration, he picked them out one by one and put them into a wooden case with separate compartments for each bullet. The last, with a number one carved into it, he loaded into the gun and aimed at Sam.

Sam cried out in shock and stumbled back, lifting his hands, thinking the man could see him and was going to shoot, but he looked through him and smiled grimly.

“It’s not going to work.”

The voice came from behind Sam and he spun on his heel then lurched to the side. He had seen grotesque pictures in Bobby’s books on demonology, but he had never seen a real one. It looked like an ordinary man, his clothes tattered, but its black eyes denoted his true form. It was a demon.

Its arms were raised above him and its wrists tied by a rope that hung from a beam in the ceiling. The rope seemed to have burned its wrists, and Sam saw water dripping down from the knots to the demon’s arms, leaving smoking burns in its wake. The rope had been soaked in holy water.

“It’s not going to work,” the demon said again. “Nothing you can make can kill me.”

“Maybe not,” the man said. “Let’s find out.”

He pulled back the hammer and Sam saw his finger start to squeeze the trigger. There was a loud bang and the demon was swinging back in his suspended position, a wound appearing in the center of its forehead. Light crackled around the wound and then spread over its whole body, jolting it as it flashed. 

When it stilled, the last spark dying, the man walked forward and prodded the demon’s body so it swung from the ropes. He smiled slightly and said, “I guess it works.”

An ax of pain cleaved Sam’s head and he gasped and squeezed his eyes shut. He heard a voice saying his name, but he couldn’t respond for a moment. He was bowed over with his head in his hands, sliding toward the floor. Someone caught his shoulders and held him up.

“Dean?” Sam asked weakly.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Dean said, his voice tense. “I’m guessing it worked.”

Sam nodded and groaned. He sat further onto the bed and opened his eyes. Dean was squatting in front of him, his hands on Sam’s shoulders. When he saw Sam was steady, he pulled out his phone and said tersely, “You need to come. It’s Sam,” before dropping the phone down onto the bed and gripping Sam’s shoulders. “Mom’s coming. Do you need to lie down?”

“No,” Sam panted. “It’s getting better already.” That was a lie, if anything the pain was building, but Sam wasn’t going to lie down like an invalid with Clark watching.

He breathed through the pain for a moment, feeling it slowly start to recede from unbearable agony to manageable, and then winced as someone hammered on the door.

Clark opened it and Mary rushed in. “Sam!” she said, her voice strained as she crossed the room and sat beside him, her arm curling around his shoulders and pulling him close. He leaned against her, taking comfort in her embrace and warmth, and then straightened up and looked at Clark who was watching him with an intense look on his face.

“What did you see?” he asked.

If Sam had not been in so much pain, he would perhaps have been more wary of what he said, but he was reckless as he bent to pick up the book again and open the front page to check the name. It was as he’d suspected, the copperplate script spelling out the name, _Samuel Colt._ “I just saw Samuel Colt” he said, handing the journal to his mother.

She gasped and blinked at the name, as if not sure she was really seeing it properly.

“That’s his?” Dean gaped at Sam for a moment and then grabbed the journal out of his mother’s hands and ran his finger over the name reverently.

“The gunmaker?” Clark asked.

“Yes,” Sam said.

Clark’s eyes became intense but Sam missed it as he tried to breathe through a particularly brutal spike of pain.

“Did you see the gun?” Mary asked.

Sam drew a deep breath. “I saw him using it.” He dug his fingertips into his temples. “It worked.”

Mary drew a shaky breath and Dean made a sound of triumph that pierced Sam’s head.

Clark leaned back in his seat. “That was a pretty big slice of history you got there, Sammy.”

Sam scowled at him, knowing he was needling Dean on purpose again.

Dean stiffened. “Let’s get you back to the room, Sammy. You need to lie down and you need painkillers.”

“In a minute,” Sam said, not sure he could even walk yet. “I need to tell you what I saw.”

“It can wait,” Dean said, shooting a pointed look at Clark.

Clark laughed. “You don’t think I’ve heard enough already? You don’t think I already know what this means. You’ve been searching up those books, looking for the _Colt_! I didn’t even think it was real.” He fixed his eyes on Sam. “It really worked?”

Sam nodded. “I think so.”

Clark leaned forward and snatched the journal out of Dean’s hands. Dean grabbed at it, but Clark pulled it away and his eyes became distant. Sam knew he was seeing what Sam had seen. When his eyes focused again, a look of almost greedy pleasure spread across his features. “I _need _that gun.”

“We need it more,” Mary said as Dean glared at him.

Clark laughed and the sound made Sam’s head pound so hard he groaned.

“Enough,” Mary said firmly. “We can talk about it later. Sam, you need to rest.”

“You can’t run from this,” Clark said. “I’m getting that gun.”

Dean’s hands fisted. “We’re getting it. You can watch.”

“Stop,” Sam said weakly. “Later.”

Clark nodded stiffly. “Later then. Come back in a few hours, Sam. We need to talk.”

“Tomorrow,” Mary said. “Sam needs more than a few hours rest.”

“I’ll come back,” Sam said.

“We will _all _come back,” Dean said.

Clark shrugged. “If you like. Just make sure you do. If you don’t, the race is on. Don’t think you can run on me. I’ll be watching.”

Dean jumped to his feet and grabbed the journal out of his hand. He held it against his chest.

“We’ll be here,” Sam said. “I promise.”

He got to his feet and tested his balance before staggering across the room to the door. This use of his power had debilitated him more than anything he had do before, and he felt weakened and vulnerable.

“I’ll be waiting, Sammy.” Clark said, making it sound like a threat.

Sam nodded and stepped out of the door Mary was holding open for him. He would go back and they would work something out. They had to. Sam needed Clark to train him. That vision or whatever they called it was intense and it had shown him something incredible, but it had also opened his eyes.

The Colt was real, it existed and worked, and they needed to find it. If it took a deal with Clark to find it, he would make sure a deal was made. Sam had a feeling they needed him to find it now. There had to be a reason Dean had brought that journal instead of any other. It was fate that had shown him that memory. And if fate was showing him that with the power Clark was training him in, maybe fate was also telling him it would take them all to find it.


	17. Chapter 17

** _Chapter Seventeen _ **

Mary didn’t want to wake Sam to go back to Clark when it was time, but she knew he would be angry if she didn’t, so she let herself into his and Dean’s room and approached the second bed where her youngest son lay.

He was curled under the blanket Dean had covered him with when Sam had collapsed fully clothed onto the bed the moment he got into the room. He looked different when he slept. The lines of stress on his brow faded and he was the son she’d known before the fire again. It was possible to believe he was the same man that was heading back to his life at Stanford with the woman he loved, the life he had without a demon hunting him and no psychic powers to train with the aggravating man they were about to go back to.

She shook his shoulder gently and said his name. His eyes cracked open, not immediately fully aware, and he looked confused. “Mom?”

She smiled at him. “Hey, honey. How are you feeling?”

She saw the memories rushed back in at him, and she knew from the way he pressed a hand to his forehead that the pain hadn’t gone yet, but he said, “I’m fine,” and pushed himself upright. “Is it time already?”

“Yes. Do you need more painkillers before we go?”

He shook his head and she moved back and he climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom. He clicked the door closed behind him and she folded the blanket and put it back on Dean’s bed ready for the night.

She heard the sound of running water and Sam opened the bathroom and spoke thickly around the toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. “Did you read the journal?”

“I did,” she replied. “There wasn’t a lot of detail. He didn’t say how he made the gun or bullets.”

Sam frowned. “It was sage, I think.”

Something fluttered in Mary’s chest. “You saw him making it?”

“Not the gun, but I saw him doing something with the bullets. There was sage, something else, and I think it was holy water. He used Latin, too.”

Mary beamed at him. “This is great. There aren’t many bullets left for the gun. If we can make more…” The thought of what they could achieve with the Colt as their weapon was dizzying. They would be unstoppable. They could kill anything they came across.

Sam went back into the bathroom and she heard him spitting into the basin and then running water again. He came back into the bedroom wiping a hand over his face. She saw, with a wave of fondness for her son, that there was still a smear of toothpaste on his chin. He looked so young and innocent, as if the threat that hung over them all had never touched his life. 

“Try again, honey,” she said with a laugh, “You’ve still got half a tube of toothpaste on your face.”

Sam went into the bathroom, groaned, and then she heard him washing his face. When he came out, the toothpaste was gone as was the look of innocence. He smiled at her though and said, “Better?”

She walked to him and touched his warm cheek. “Much.”

Sam patted her hand and said, “We better get going then. Clark doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“What’s he like to work with?” Mary asked. “Does he give you a hard time?”

Sam shook his head. “No. He’s different without anyone else there. He’s tough and pushes me, but it’s for a reason and it gets results. I can do much more now.”

“What can you do?” Mary asked curiously.

Sam opened his mouth and then hesitated, a frown marring his brow. “Let’s get Dean.”

Mary sighed. She wished Sam would be open with her. Dean had explained what he did with the book, and she knew about the visions, but she wanted to know what else Sam could do. She didn’t understand his reticence. Surely, he knew there was nothing he could do that would make her love him any less. She may be scared of these powers, but that was because of what they could do to him if he fought and the fact they hurt him. Nothing he could do was going to bother her. He was always going to be her son, and she would love him unconditionally. 

She would find a way to show him that, to let him know he could be open with her.

Sam pulled on his coat and then left the room, closing the door behind Mary as she exited, and knocked on the door to her room.

Dean came out and asked, “We ready?” making no effort to hide the fact he wasn’t happy.

“Yeah,” Sam said.

They walked around the motel block to the room that faced onto a smaller parking lot and Sam knocked on the door of Clark’s room. It was opened and Clark stepped back to let them in and then swung the door shut. The bang made Sam wince.

Clark dropped into a chair at the table and Mary sat in the other chair, leaving Sam and Dean the bed. The couch would have been a better spot to sit, but it was covered with Clark’s leather jacket, a pillow, and a blanket. It looked as though he had been sleeping there again.

“You came back,” he said with satisfaction.

“I said we would,” Sam pointed out.

“Yeah, and I trust _you_, but the rest of your family I don’t know. I thought maybe they’d try to bundle you off while you were unconscious. How’s the head by the way?”

Sam ignored the question and said, “You can trust them, too. They don’t lie.”

Clark smirked and his eyes fell on Mary. She knew he couldn’t read her mind, but something in the way he was looking at her made her think he still knew more than she wanted him to.

Tense as a coiled spring, though his voice was civil, Dean asked, “Why do you want the Colt?”

Clark cracked his knuckles distractedly and said, “I didn’t know it was real until today, or I’d have found it already. I thought it was a myth. But now I need it to kill a demon.”

“What demon?” Sam asked, and when Clark didn’t answer he said, “Complete honesty, Clark,” pointedly.

Clark rubbed his chin and nodded. “Okay. I’ll tell you. But I want to know your story first. What’s the deal with the demon you want to kill?”

“It’s the one coming for me,” Sam said.

“I figured that much. I want to know the _complete _story.”

Sam glanced at Mary and she smiled reassuringly at him. “I’ll do it,” she said.

“Mom…” Dean’s voice was a warning.

“We have to tell him, Dean,” Sam said. “This is important.”

“It really is,” Clark said, shooting Dean a wink. “Sam told me some, but I want to know the story from the beginning. Tell me everything.”

Mary took a deep breath and began, speaking into the silent room with the rapt attention of everyone on her. “On the night Sam turned six-months-old, the demon came to our home. I heard John shouting and I followed his voice to the nursery. There was a demon in there. He disappeared almost as soon as I saw him, but he was still there somehow as he was the one that killed my husband, John. John was pinned to the ceiling, bleeding from his stomach. Before I could even say a word, the fire started. It came from John and spread over the ceiling.”

Dean winced and Sam was staring down at his shaking hands. As she reached for him, Dean bumped Sam with his shoulder, making his brother look up, revealing haunted eyes that weren’t softened by the forced smile on his lips or words, “I’m fine.”

“So the demon killed your husband,” Clark said thoughtfully. “But it left you and Sam alive.”

“Yes,” Mary said.

“And you were no threat to it,” Clark said, speaking to himself.

“None,” Mary agreed, her heart pounding.

It was true that she was no threat to the demon, no reason for it to flee and leave her alive, but there was still a reason. Her deal was made. It had entry to her home, and she had lived because she hadn’t interrupted, but John had and so had been killed.

“And you don’t know _why _it came?”

“No,” Dean said angrily, unknowingly saving her from a lie. “We think it was for Sam because his girlfriend was killed, too, but we don’t _know._”

Clark stared at Sam for a moment and said, “And you think he wants Sam because he’s psychic.”

“Yes,” Mary said quietly.

“But that makes no sense,” Clark said. “There are dozens of psychics in the states alone. God knows how many in the world. And it’s not like a demon is geographically limited. Some are untrained, like Sam was, but there are a lot more that have honed their gift. I’m not the most powerful I’ve heard of. Any one of them would be a better choice for a demon than a baby. Sam is powerful, maybe more than me one day, but there are still stronger than us out there. Why choose Sam?”

“We don’t know,” Dean said, his fingers tapping an impatient rhythm on his knee. “But it did, so we need to stop it. We need the Colt for that. Why do _you _want it?”

“Who did you lose?” Sam asked, and when Clark hesitated, he said, “No more deal. Complete honesty.”

“Does that go both ways for you, too? If I tell my story, will you show them?”

Sam nodded.

“Good.” Clark drew a deep breath and said. “It’s kinda like your stories. I lost someone I loved too, but she wasn’t killed.”

“What happened?” Sam asked quietly. 

Clark’s expression darkened. “Something worse than just being killed…”

xXx

Ruby swung her hands between them as they walked along the street. “Pink,” she said decisively.

Clark snorted. “I am not wearing pink.”

“You have to,” she said. “I’ll find a nice soft shade. It won’t be garish,”

“It will still be pink.” Clark pulled her to a stop and kissed her on the lips. “I love you, I want to marry you and I want to do it in front of all our friends and family, but I am not wearing a pink cummerbund while I do it.”

Ruby pulled back. “What happened to you giving me anything I needed.”

“You don’t need me in pink,” Clark said.

Ruby pouted. “You’d look so good though.”

“I’d look ridiculous. No.” He pushed her long blonde hair behind her ears and stroked her cheek. “Let’s talk navy.” He ran his hands down her face to her neck. “Or green.”

Ruby shivered as he trailed his fingers down her throat and said, “Pale green?”

“I was thinking more forest, but I will wear pale green if it makes you happy.”

She grinned and caught his hand as it reached her collarbone. “Later, stud. Let’s get home. It’s cold.”

Clark laughed. “I told you it would be. You wanted to wear the dress.”

“Because you told me I look good in it.”

“You do,” Clark said, squeezing her hand as they started off along the sidewalk toward their apartment again. “You were the most beautiful woman in the room.”

She smiled, color flushing her cheeks. “Don’t let the partners hear you saying that. Those other women were their wives. They’ll never give you the job if they know you don’t think they’re prettier than me.”

Clark grinned. “I think I’ll make out okay anyway.”

“Another of your feelings?” she teased. 

“Yep. One of those.”

The only secret Clark had from the woman he loved was his gift. He didn’t practice his powers, he hadn’t since he was eighteen, but he could still sense things that normal people couldn’t, and he’d seen the connections made between him and the partners of Stanley and Gaines Law. He thought he was going to get a call the next day with the job offer he’d been hoping for.

He’d decided when he drove away from his grandparents’ home the day he left for Harvard that he was going to be normal, that he would leave behind the enhanced abilities he had been born with. His grandfather’s warning about what happened to psychics that denied their powers rang in his ears, but it had been years. He was a Harvard Law graduate now, and he was fine. He thought his grandparents had been worried over nothing.

“I hope you’re right,” Ruby said. “You deserve the job better than any of the other mouth-breathers there.”

Clark grinned. “Honey, they are some of the best legal minds of their graduating class. They’re strong competition.”

“They’re not as good as you,” she said seriously.

Clark pulled them to a stop and kissed her again. “You’re biased.”

She pulled back and they started walking again, hurrying past the dark alley that always made Clark nervous. It reminded him of a scene from the opening sequence of a horror movie. 

They were almost past it when someone grabbed Clark’s shoulder and turned him. He looked into the face of a woman that couldn’t be older than twenty. She was grimy and thin, but her face was calm and amused.

Clark pushed Ruby behind him with one hand and rooted in his pocket for his wallet with the other. He took it out and held it out to the young woman. “There’s a lot of money in there,” he said. “Take it and go.”

The young woman brushed his hand aside and said, “I don’t want your money. I want your girlfriend.”

Ruby whimpered and Clark felt a swell of fear. Something stirred in his chest, and for the first time in years, he felt the wave of strength that came with his gift. He drew it up and prepared to fling it at the woman, to slam her into the wall, but before he could do it, she had pulled out a strange-looking knife and slashed it across his gut, leaving burning pain was trailing in its wake. He felt warmth flood down his legs and he fell to the ground, his hands cradling his bleeding stomach. 

Ruby screamed and dropped down beside him, her hands joining his on the bloodiest place of his shirt.

“Help!” she screamed. “Someone help us!”

The woman that had attacked Clark stood over him, staring down with amusement. Clark stared at her, his mouth moving wordlessly, his voice stolen by the shock and pain, and then an inarticulate cry ripped from him as the woman’s head flew back and black smoke poured out. For a moment, it just funneled in the air and then it flew at Ruby. Her mouth flew open and the smoke forced its way into her.

When the last of it had entered and her mouth closed, Ruby’s hands dropped from Clark’s stomach and she stood up. She stood over him for a moment, her green eyes amused, and then they turned pitch black and she turned and walked away, stooping to pick up the knife she had used to attack Clark.

“Ruby!” Clark tried to shout but it came out as a whimper.

People crowded around him and a man began to call instructions for someone to call an ambulance and for another to give him a coat. Clark felt pressure on his stomach that flooded him with even more pain, and then blessed unconsciousness came for him and his eyes fell closed.

His last thought was that his grandfather was right. Demons were real.

xXx

As Clark finished his story, Mary drew a deep breath. The words had been factual and simple, no emotion behind the story of how he’d been attacked and his girlfriend possessed, but she sensed there was a lot of emotion under the surface that Clark wasn’t telling them—it was as if he was seeing the scene in his mind, even as he told them the bare bones of the story.

“She was possessed,” Dean said. There was no hostility in his voice for once when addressed Clark.

“Yes,” Clark said. “She disappeared that day, and there has been no sign of her since. I’ve spent every day since I got out of the hospital looking for the demon that took Ruby.” He rubbed a hand over his face in a rare moment of vulnerability. “That’s why _I _need the gun. I want to find the demon that took the woman I love and I want to kill it. I have been hunting it all this time to hurt it. Now I know there’s a way to kill… I _need_ that gun.”

“How will you know it when you find it?” Mary asked. “It could have switched meatsuits.”

Clark flinched. “I will know it when I see it. I will never forget the way that demon felt.” Seeing their confusion, he said. “I had weeks in the hospital to think about that night, years later to dream of it, and I remember every detail. I know how that demon felt to me. I will know it again.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Is that something I can do, feel demons?”

“I don’t know,” Clark said. “Maybe. Only way to find out is to get you close to one, but…”

“No!” Mary said harshly, her fingers curling into unconscious claws. “He’s not going to be anywhere near one.”

“But, as I was going to say, I don’t see that happening,” Clark finished.

Mary chanced a glance as Sam and saw he looked annoyed. She could understand how he felt and why, but he could be unhappy with her if that helped him. She would not let him near a demon if she could stop it. She definitely wasn’t getting him close enough to one to test his powers.

“You already knew about demons,” she said, wanting to change the subject.

“Yes. I come from a line of psychics,” Clark said. “It skipped my mother, but I got the works. I was raised by my grandparents, and they trained me from when I was a kid. I stopped when I went to college, but after Ruby was taken, I put everything I had into building them again. It’s why I have such good control of them,” he added, looking at Sam who nodded. “They told me about the demons in the world and the monsters, but I never really believed them. After Ruby, they told me everything they knew about demons, and then I started learning for myself.”

Mary nodded thoughtfully. She’d thought Sam and Dean had a rough introduction to the real world, but Clark’s was even worse.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “No one should have to go through that.”

Clark laughed harshly. “No, but they do every day. I’m just one of the lucky ones that can do something about it. And you’re going to help me.”

“We’re not giving you the Colt,” Dean stated. “We need it more. You want revenge, and I get that, believe me. But we need it to save a life.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to have to change your mind if you want me to keep helping your brother.”

“What about Missouri?” Sam asked, his face betraying his worry even though his tone was neutral. “You made a deal with her.”

Clark shrugged. “I’ve set you up with two extra powers now. I think that’s earned me a favor from Mosely.”

“Two?” Dean asked. “What else can he do?”

“_He_ is sitting right beside you,” Clark said. “Why don’t you ask him? Better yet, ask him to show you.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably. “We don’t need to do that.”

“Yes we do,” Clark said. “I’m not sure what the holdup is here, Sam, but they need to see and you need to let go of what’s holding you back.”

“Nothing is holding me back!” Sam said angrily.

Clark shook his head tiredly. “I’m not a mind reader, unfortunately, but whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong. I can feel that. Don’t forget you have that whole saintly thing going on. It’s not going to change how they see you.”

Mary’s eyes widened and she looked at Sam who was staring down at his lap. “Is that it?” she asked. “You’re worried what we’ll think? Honey, nothing you can ever do or say is going to change how much your brother and I love you. You know that. Whatever it is you’re hiding from us, stop it. We’re not going to judge.”

Dean elbowed Sam and Sam looked at him. “She’s right,” Dean said. “I told you before, it doesn’t matter how many powers you have, you’re still the little brother, _my_ little brother. Just show us.”

Clark nodded, looking satisfied, and got to his feet. He picked up the pillow from the couch and dropped it down in front of Sam’s feet. “Go on,” he said. “Show them. Just don’t explode it. It’s the last one.”

Sam frowned and stared down at the pillow. At first, Mary thought he was refusing to show them still, and she reached for words to comfort him, but then she realized, by the strained look on Sam’s face, that he _was_ showing them. The pillow was shaking, though nothing was touching it.

“Whoa,” Dean breathed. “Sammy.”

Sam huffed out a breath and the pillow flew—actually _flew—_into the air and collided with Dean’s face, sticking to it as if he was a magnet.

Clark started to laugh, growing louder as Dean pushed the pillow away, revealing his stunned face.

Mary thought her own shock must have mirrored his, but she quickly schooled her face into a smile and got to her feet. She tugged Sam up and threw her arms around him. “Sam, that was amazing!” she said gleefully. “I can’t believe you can do that already.”

Sam’s brought his hands up to hold her, and she felt his uncertainty in his light touch. She pulled back and cupped his cheeks in her hand.

“That was _amazing_,” she said emphatically. “I’m so proud of you.”

Proud was perhaps the wrong word, she was awed, but she thought Sam needed to hear more than that. It was an incredible achievement after only a few days training. He must have been pushing himself to the limit to do it. No wonder he was exhausted when he finished each day.

Sam looked worried still. “You don’t think I’m a freak?”

“No!” Dean said firmly. “You’re awesome. Though if you can aim somewhere other than my face when you move onto heavier objects, that would be great.”

Sam laughed softly, a look of exquisite relief crossing his face. Mary saw now just how scared of their reaction he had been.

“And that’s just what he’s learned so far with me,” Clark said loudly, breaking the moment.

Mary’s eyes moved to him and she saw he was lolling in the uncomfortable chair, a picture of ease despite the intensity in his eyes.

“And I can teach him so much more. But I want that gun.”

“We can’t give it to you,” Sam said. “We need it more.”

Clark considered. “I can see why you’d think that. So I’ll make you a deal. I will help you, Sam, teach you everything I can, and I will help you _all _to find that gun, but you will give me one shot from it. When I find my demon, you will come and you will give it to me. You will let me kill it.”

“And then you’ll give it back to us?” Sam asked.

“Sammy,” Dean said in a warning tone.

Sam held up a hand to him and Dean fell silent. “You will use one bullet, one shot, and then you will give it back?”

“Yes,” Clark said, looking from Sam to Mary and ignoring Dean completely. “Do we have a deal?”

Sam nodded and Mary said, “Yes.”

She could think of no other option. Sam needed to be trained and they couldn’t compete with Clark to find it. They had one of Samuel Colt’s journals—though it only covered one year and there had been nothing else helpful about the Colt in the parts she’d read that afternoon while Sam slept—and she hoped there would be more in others her father had collected. If they could find the right one, they might get the name of the hunter he’d passed it onto in the legend.

Clark held out a hand and Mary shook it. He gripped hers a moment too long, and she had the feeling he was looking right into her, before he released her and said, “I’m trusting you, Mary.”

“And I’m trusting you,” she replied.

Her tone was calm though she was feeling a twist of fear. The way he said it made her nervous, and Missouri’s warning about her secret being revealed was in the forefront of her mind. Was it possible that Clark knew? He had been hunting demons for over twenty years. Had one told him something?

She couldn’t ask, couldn’t even if they were alone, as it would reveal that she was hiding something, but she wondered

Despite the deal she had just made, she didn’t trust Clark. If it wasn’t for the fact they needed him for Sam, she would have taken her sons home and never looked for him again. But Sam did need him, so she had to hope that he would keep what he might know to himself.


	18. Chapter 18

Clark huffed in frustration, “You _can _do this, Sam. You’ve just got to calm down.”

Sam’s hands fisted. Did Clark really think that was helping? Telling Sam to calm down was having the opposite effect. He was trying to relax himself, to let go of his tension, but he was wound too tight.

“I need Dean.”

“No, you need _you_,” Clark said. “You’ve got to learn to do this alone. You can’t rely on Dean being there to hold your hand every time you want to calm down. There is no danger; I am here to protect you. All you need to do is breathe and let go.”

Sam forced his hands to unclench and tried to relax his locked muscles. He knew Clark was right, Dean wouldn’t always be there with him, but he couldn’t calm his breaths enough to focus on anything else.

Clark wanted him to try astral projection, something he said was going to be among the hardest thing they’d ever done as he had to reach a complete calm to achieve it at first, but Sam was as far from calm as it was possible to be. He was tired and overwhelmed, and frustrated that Clark didn’t understand that it would be so much easier if Dean was there.

He hadn’t slept well the night before. Perhaps it was because he had spent the night in unsatisfying dreams in which he wandered around a cemetery searching for something.

It would be easy to dismiss it as a dream born of the tension he felt during the day and the information overload of the vision of Samuel Colt, but he knew that wasn’t it as he knew what he had been looking for and where. He had been wandering the cemetery in Sacramento, searching for Jessica’s grave. He knew if he could find her grave, he would find her, but it was as if the wooden marker at her grave was gone completely. No matter how many graves he checked, it was never hers. He felt like there was something he was missing, as if she was waiting for him there, even though he knew it was impossible.

“Take a breath, Sam,” Clark said in a bored voice.

Sam obeyed, but it was shaky and didn’t feel like it was filling his lungs properly.

“I need Dean,” he said again.

He knew it was wrong to want him. Dean and Mary were busy searching through the boxes of journals for more from Samuel Colt. The one Sam had seen was from 1835 and it had been more personal than a hunter’s journal. It had been his own recollections kept for himself, and they believed there was going to be one for each year of his long life.

Sam shouldn’t take Dean away from that, but he needed him.

Clark sighed and got to his feet. “Fine,” he snapped. “You sit there and breathe like a landed fish and I’ll get what you need.”

“Dean?” Sam asked, ashamed of the hopeful note in his voice.

Clark didn’t answer. He yanked open the door and then let it slam behind him when he’d gone through it. 

Sam felt his breaths coming calmer now that he knew that his brother was going to be there soon. It wasn’t right and he shouldn’t allow himself to become dependent on Dean’s help, but perhaps just this one time, the first time, he needed him.

The door flew open again and Clark stomped into the room followed by Dean. Clark threw himself into a chair and Dean came straight to Sam.

“You okay, Sammy?” he asked, worry making lines on his forehead. “Clark said you needed me.”

“He needs you to hold his hand,” Clark said scathingly.

Dean nodded. “Okay. Sure.”

He sat down on the bed and waited for Sam to join him, angling himself so they were facing each other. Clark lit a cigarette and threw open the window.

“You do know Sam had pneumonia, right?” Dean asked, his irritation obvious as he glowered at Clark.

Clark blew a cloud of smoke toward the window and said, “Why else would I be freezing my ass off here just so I can have a smoke. Get on with it. Help your brother.”

“I’ll just text mom and tell her where I am,” Dean said, pulling out his phone. “She’s gone to the store. We’re out of coffee.” His thumbs flew over the phone as he typed out a message and then he set it down and said, “Okay. I’m ready.”

Sam placed his hand on Dean’s chest, feeling the wash of calm already as his breaths slowed to match Dean’s slow and regular ones.

“Perfect,” Clark said, annoyance dripping from the word. “_Now_ you’re yellow.”

“Shut up, Clark,” Sam said mildly. “Tell me what to do.”

“You just need to let go,” Clark said. “With what you’ve handled so far and what’s under the surface, this should be easy for you now that you’re nice and chilled.”

“How do I let go?” Sam asked.

“Good question. Think of who you want to see and reach for them. Don’t use words. Just picture a face. Let them draw you to them. As long as you stay focused, you should reach them.”

Sam closed his eyes and fixed his mother’s face in his mind. His head began to swim and his hand pressed harder onto Dean’s chest, steadying himself, and he willed himself to move.

“Mom,” he said quietly.

“No words,” Clark said irritably and Sam’s eyes flew open. “Words ground you. You need to think of her face. Imagine you never learned words or names. All you have is faces.”

“That sounds easy,” Dean said sarcastically.

“Be quiet, hand-holder,” Clark snapped. “Your job is just to help him relax. Try again, Sam.”

Sam closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on his mother. He saw her appear, her hair around her face, and her grey eyes fixed on him.

“You can do this, Sam,” Clark said, his words seeming to come from a distance.

Sam felt pressure against his hand and Dean said, “You’ve got this.”

Sam felt a dizzying rush and then he was rising up. It was just like when Clark took him to see his mother and Dean. He was looking down on the room. He and Dean sat facing each other on the bed. Dean’s hand was holding Sam’s to his chest, and his eyes were worried as they fixed on Sam’s face. Clark was in the chair, blowing a stream of smoke into the room and smiling smugly.

“He’s got it,” he said with satisfaction.

Sam floated over them for a moment and then he felt something pulling at him. He allowed himself to be drawn out of the room and outside. He saw the wind blowing trash across the parking lot, but he didn’t feel it. He felt nothing physically at all. The sensation of touch had been left behind with his body.

He passed over the rooms quickly, drawn forward, and came to the other side of the motel where Mary’s Jeep was just pulling to a stop beside the Impala. She grabbed a bag of groceries from the seat beside her and climbed out. She let herself into her room and set her bag down on the bed. Her phone was sitting on the table, and when her eyes fell on it, she said something inaudible and checked the screen. She frowned as she opened the message and then her eyes tightened and she rushed out of the room.

Sam was drawn after her as she strode quickly around the motel to Clark’s room and knocked roughly on the door. It was opened by Clark who rolled his eyes and said, “They’re busy. Leave them alone.”

Mary pushed past him and into the room. Her eyes fell on Sam and she looked scared. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s okay, Mom,” Dean said. “He’s trying something new.”

Mary didn’t seem reassured. She crossed to the bed and reached for Sam, ignoring Clark’s harsh command, “Don’t touch him. You’re going to screw it up.”

Mary pressed her hand to Sam’s cheek and she said, “Sammy, can you hear me?”

Sam felt himself being yanked forward and then he was drawing a gasping breath, back in his body with Mary’s chilled hand on his cheek. His head began to pound and he squeezed his eyes shut again against the light.

He felt Dean’s hand move to this shoulder and he heard the window slam closed and then the swish of drapes being drawn before Clark said, “Okay, Sammy, you can look.”

Sam opened his eyes and blinked into the dim light that was coming through the drapes.

“How did that feel?” Clark asked. 

He pressed his fingers to his temple. “It hurts now.”

“Obviously, but how did it feel when you were doing it?”

Sam smiled slightly. “Pretty cool.”

“How far did you go?”

“Only to Mom’s room.”

“You’ll go further,” Clark said confidently. “Distance is no object when you’re looking for a place or person.”

“It looked freaky,” Dean said, his hand squeezing Sam’s shoulder and then dropping to his side. “It’s like you weren’t even breathing. You were just… gone.”

“He was,” Clark said happily. “Pretty damn well for the first time, too. He sustained it until _you_ interrupted.” He scowled at Mary.

“I’m sorry,” Mary said sardonically. “Maybe if you had a son that you saw not breathing, you’d be a little worried, too.”

Clark shrugged. “You’re going to be pretty awesome, Sammy, given enough practice. I can’t wait to see what else you’ve got in that head of yours.”

Sam flinched as a particularly hard pulse of pain throbbed in his head. “Is it in my mind?” he asked. “I mean, where exactly do these powers come from?”

“Good question,” Clark said, grinning as all eyes fixed on him. “The gift itself is in your soul, but it’s your mind that controls it. That’s why it gives you a headache when you do it.”

“But it won’t always hurt?” Mary asked.

“No, it’ll be easier with time. It would be a lot better if there wasn’t the battle going on at the same time.”

Not wanting Clark to start talking about how it was something in Sam’s blood that was wrong, that something tainted him, he said, “I want to try again.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Clark said. “But alone this time. No hand-holding. You know you can do it now, so do it.”

Sam glared at him, knowing Clark was pushing him too hard intentionally, and then closed his eyes and tried to relax himself. He knew within less than a minute that it was pointless. He couldn’t do it. He could feel Dean shifting restlessly beside him, making the bed move, and he knew that if he could just use Dean, he would be able to do it. He felt the bed move again and his eyes opened to see Mary had taken a seat on his other side. She gave him an encouraging smile and Sam closed his eyes again.

He tried to focus on the fact that they were close to calm himself, but his breaths still came to fast and his head throbbed.

“Okay, don’t bother,” Clark said tiredly. “You’re not going to be able to do it like that.”

“Why not?” Mary asked as Sam looked at him, sure he knew the answer already.

“Because he’s got a crappy muddy aura, and that’s not going to help.”

“He’s in pain,” Mary said defensively.

Clark shrugged. “Then he’d better go lie down.” He looked at Sam. “Go now and get rid of that headache. I’ll come get you when it’s time to try again.”

Relived but feeling guilty, Sam got up and moved to the door. Mary and Dean stood to follow him, but Clark said, “You two can wait. I want to talk to you.”

“What about?” Sam asked suspiciously.

“Your surprise well-done-on-building-your-psychic-powers party,” Clark said and clapped a hand to his face. “Damn. I guess it’s not a surprise anymore. Oh well. Leave us to plan the theme at least. You can’t know everything about it.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at him. “What are you doing, Clark?”

“Talking about you not to you, Sammy. Go lie down before you drop.”

His words were accompanied by his fist hitting the table which made Sam’s head pound.

He didn’t think leaving Clark and Dean alone with only Mary to referee was a good idea, and he wanted to know what they were going to talk about—he was sure it really was going to be about him—but his head was throbbing with his pulse and the lure of lying down in darkness was too tempting to refuse.

Assuring himself that Mary and Dean would tell him whatever it was Clark said later, he grabbed his coat from the bed and pulled it on and then made for the door.

xXx

Sam was waiting for something. He wasn’t sure what, but it felt important, and he was pacing back and forth. He couldn’t tell where he was as the light was too dim. He could just see a few feet in front of him before the darkness blocked it out. Looking down he could see that he was standing on wooden floorboards, though, and he was wearing his favorite Stanford hoodie. It was the first time he’d seen it in weeks as it had burned in the fire along with everything else. 

He was vaguely aware that he was dreaming, but it didn’t seem to matter as if it felt so real, like a vision dream. There was no sense of danger though. It was more like one of the waking visions he’d had when he saw things that should upset him but merely made him feel bad and confused that he _didn’t _feel. 

Just when Sam was starting to wish he could wake up or move onto a different dream, the darkness around him began to lift and he realized where he was, what he had missed before. The floorboards he had walked on should have been recognized at once as they were his own—at least they had been.

He was in his apartment’s living room.

Behind him was the couch that he’d gotten from a friend’s brother and had taken six of them to get into the apartment. In front of him was the coffee table, and on it were the notes he’d been studying for his interview. Beside it was the empty coffee cup, exactly where he’d left it when Jessica had announced it was time to stop studying for something he was going to rock anyway and go to Scotty’s. Jessica’s sketchbook was on the table with a box of charcoals, and a barely started sketch was left in the process of forming on the page. Sam couldn’t tell what it was going to be yet. The air smelled like Jessica’s perfume and the coffee that Sam had brewed for his study session.

It felt like a vision dream, but it couldn’t be. This apartment was a charred shell now, everything they had kept and treasured there was gone up in flames. But it felt so _real_.

“Hey, Baby.”

The voice made Sam’s heart stutter and his breath freeze on an exhale.

This _couldn’t_ be a vision, as the owner of that voice was dead.

He turned slowly and Sam saw Jessica standing in the kitchen doorway. She was wearing a red dress Sam recognized, and the short leather jacket she wore was one Sam had brought for her himself after seeing her lingering over it in the mall. It had cost more of his scholarship money than he should have spent, but she had been so happy with it.

In her ears were the diamond studs her parents had brought for her as a high school graduation present. She had been looking for them only a few days before she died, wanting to ‘class up’ her Halloween outfit. Sam had said there was no way to class up a sexy nurse’s outfit with that short a skirt, and she’d laughed at him. Her hair was flowing around her face. She could have stepped out of the memory Sam had of their reunion dinner after Sam had come back from his summer visit to Sioux Falls.

He took in each detail in the moment of seeing her before his locked muscles could relax enough for him to exhale, and it wasn’t until she had crossed the room and stopped in front of him that he gasped oxygen into his lungs again. 

“Jess,” he whispered.

She smiled, her beautiful face lighting up. “I missed you.”

“This can’t be real.”

“Why can’t it be real?” she asked softly.

“Because…” Sam felt tears burn his eyes and slip down his cheeks, hot against his skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Shhh,” she soothed. “It’s okay.”

“I should have known,” Sam said. “I should have saved you.”

She frowned. “How could you have known?”

Sam shook his head and looked away, he couldn’t bear to tell just how guilty he was, not when she was here now.

“You tried to save me,” she said. “I saw. It was too late though, and you couldn’t reach. Then the fire came, and you didn’t stand a chance.” She bit her lip. “I saw what happened after. You wanted to stay with me, didn’t you?”

“Always,” Sam said fervently. 

Her eyes became sad. “That’s not what I meant. You wanted to die.”

“I did. I couldn’t bear to be without you.”

She smiled the beautiful, blissful smile he had always loved most. “I love you, too. I always will.”

“I love you,” Sam said fervently.

He didn’t doubt that. Even when he had felt nothing at all, he had known he had loved her and he remembered how all-consuming that felt. Now, faced with her, he felt it all again. It was like a swelling in his chest, as if his heart was finally filling working right again, really pumping the life-giving blood.

“Jess,” he said, savoring the word on his tongue.

She stepped closer and stared into his eyes. “Sam…”

Sam felt wetness on his face and his eyes burned. He was crying for her. For the first time since he had stood in that burning room, his tears were for _her_. It felt like too much and not enough all at once.

“Shh,” she soothed. “I’m here now. I have been waiting for you for a long time. I thought you were never going to let me in.”

Sam pulled back and looked at her. “You’ve been waiting for me?”

“I’ve been trying so hard,” she said.

“But you’re dead,” Sam said.

“I am. But does it have to end there?”

“Are you a ghost?” Sam asked.

“I’m not sure what I am. Do I look like a ghost?” When Sam didn’t answer, she smiled and said, “Why does it matter. I’m here. You’re here.”

“You are,” Sam said, his voice weak. “I am.”

He didn’t realize how much he had needed it until she was there. Now he felt the absolute peace that she had always brought him. He felt the swell of love that she had always incited.

“I love you,” he said again. “I love you so much.” He raised his hand and then dropped it to his side again. He wanted to touch her, but he wasn’t sure he could. If his hand was to move through her, it would break his heart.

She lifted her hand to his face, but just before it made contact, there was a thumping sound that jarred through Sam.

“What is that?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” She bit her lip. “I think someone’s coming. You’re going.” She began to walk backward, away from him.

“No, Jess! Come back!” he cried.

“I will be waiting,” she said, her voice weak with distance. “You have to come to me.”

“I will,” Sam promised. “I’ll find you again.”

If she replied, it was lost in the thumping on the door, and Sam’s eyes flew open to the grey-white of the ceiling in his and Dean’s motel room. The thumping came again, and Sam realized it was someone hammering on the door.


	19. Chapter 19

Sam climbed out of bed and walked across the room to open the door, revealing Clark on the doorstep looking annoyed.

“Man, you sleep deep,” he said irritably. “I already gave you hours, too. Time to get back to work. We need to…” He frowned. “Have you been crying?”

Sam wiped a hand over his face and realized it was wet. He smeared the tears and said, “I’m fine. What do you want?”

Clark appraised him for a moment and said, “We’re going to try astral projection again. And this time we’re doing it alone. Your mom and brother have gone on a field trip.”

“I can’t do it without Dean,” Sam said, a hint of panic in his voice.

“Which is exactly why they’ve gone. You _can _do it without him, and this time you will.”

“Where have they gone?”

“To get more journals from some storage unit in Omaha. They won’t be back for a while, so we have some nice quiet time to work. Shall we sit?” He pushed past Sam and dropped into the chair at the table. “Sit down, Sam.”

Sam closed the door and trailed across the room to sit down on the chair.

“Now, it took a lot to persuade them to go, so I need this to work,” Clark said. “I’m not having you proving me wrong. Your security blanket isn’t here, so you’ve got to rely on yourself. Get yourself nice and calm.”

Sam closed his eyes and then they flew open as his head thudded with pain and his arm began to tingle. “It’s happening,” he said.

“It’s really not,” Clark said. “You’re nowhere near calm.”

“No, a vision.” Sam rubbed his arm and blinked as the outline of Clark’s face began to glow.

“Okay, that works,” Clark said. “Do what you’ve got to do. Tell me what you see.”

“I can’t,” Sam said. “I have to find it. I’m not calm.” His mind was too full of Jessica for him to find calm.

“You’re going to have to,” Clark said. “I am _not_ holding your hand.”

Sam's breaths came fast. He was never going to be able to do this, but he had to do this. It could be something bad, someone that needed to be protected, someone he cared about. Mary and Dean weren’t there. What if it was them he was going to see?

“Breathe,” Clark said.

Sam tried but before he could even draw one inhale, his head spiked with pain and his vision filled with stars and cold air rushed across his face.

He looked around and saw he was in the cemetery again, the one where Jessica was buried. Unlike his dream the night before, he knew where he had to go to find her. He strode purposefully across the grass, using the large grave with an angel perched on it as a landmark. The wooden marker was gone from Jessica’s grave and had been replaced with a marble gravestone. Sam stopped in front of it and looked down at it. Beneath the inscription of her name and dates of birth and death was a single line in gold that seemed to glow.

Sam read it aloud. _“She was loved.”_

A cry swelled in Sam’s throat and he reached to touch the grave, but then he heard the crunch of gravel on the path that led through the graveyard.

Sam spun on his heels and the cry slipped out of him.

Jessica was walking towards him. She was wearing the same clothes she had been wearing in his dream. She was smiling widely, reaching for him, and Sam rushed towards her.

He was almost at her when he heard laughter that seemed out of place in the graveyard. He turned automatically and saw the graves behind him were gone and he was facing a familiar house. It was his family’s old home, only a short walk away from the motel he was staying in. There was a boy and girl, both teenagers, on the porch, trying to open the door with a screwdriver beside the lock.

Sam turned away from them, wanting to find Jessica again, but the cemetery was gone, Jessica with it, and there were just houses.

A moan of pain in his chest, Sam called her name, but there was no response but the laughter of the teenagers and triumphant cries. Sam turned back to them and saw that they’d gotten the door open and they were rushing into the house, flashlights leading their way. 

Sam wanted to leave them, to pull out of the vision to find Jessica again, but the sense of danger that had been absent from his waking visions so far was strong.

Fighting against himself, he followed them inside, seeing the girl push the door closed behind her with a giggle. “It won’t shut, Ty,” she said.

“Never mind. Come on,” the boy, Ty, said. “The basement. No one will see the light there.”

They walked through the hall, testing doors to a closet and the kitchen before finding one that led down a flight of stairs.

“Awesome,” he said. “It’s a little spooky. Want me to hold your hand, Hallie?”

“No thanks,” she said. “Unless you need me to. Are you scared?”

“No!” His shoulders stiffened. “I’m fine.”

They walked slowly down the stairs and Sam followed them, his eyes searching around for a sign of the threat he could sense coming.

When they reached the basement, Ty looked around and whistled. “This is so cool. Look! They left junk for us!”

Sam saw there were old chests in the corner that looked familiar. There were some that looked the same at Bobby’s, too, mementos Mary had inherited from her parents and brought to Bobby’s for them to store some of the older books in to lock them away from Sam and Dean when they were kids, before they knew the truth.

Hallie lit the way with a flashlight as Ty tried to lift the lid. “It’s locked!” he said angrily.

“Damn,” she said.

“Not a problem. I’ll get it open.” He took the screwdriver from his jacket pocket again and began to prize at the lock.

Sam’s sense of foreboding increased, and he moved closer to them, as if he could defend them from what was coming somehow, even though he was just there to witness.

The lock broke and Hallie whooped. Ty threw the trunk open and reached inside. “Cool!” he said excitedly. “Look at this!” He pulled out a box that bore the picture of a toy racetrack set. “Retro!”

“I wonder whose it was,” the girl said.

Ty tried to lift the lid and said, “It’s never been opened. I guess they forgot about it when they left.”

“What else is there?” she asked.

He set down the toy and pulled out a smaller box with photographs in it. Sam’s breath caught as he saw his father’s face on the faded paper. He was cradling a baby in his arms and a small boy was leaning against his side. The boy was Dean, which meant the baby was Sam.

Sam had never seen this picture of him before, and none of the pictures he had seen had captured the look of pure pride on his father’s face. He felt his throat swell shut.

“That’s so sweet,” the girl said. “Look at the baby. They must have left them behind when they moved out.” 

“Yeah, that sucks,” Ty replied. “Maybe we can… Hey, what was that?”

Sam had heard it. It was the slamming of the door at the top of the stairs. Whatever it was that he’d sensed was there.

The girl’s eyes darted around in the darkness, “I think we should get out of here, Ty. I don’t like it.”

“It’s fine,” Ty said, though his voice betrayed his own unease. “I thought you wanted to party.”

“No. I want to get out of here,” she insisted.

The girl ran to the stairs, her flashlight bobbing, and her footsteps loud on the wooden stairs. She tried the door but it didn’t budge. “Let me out!” she shouted. “This isn’t funny. Is that you, Ed?”

“Calm down,” Ty said, moving toward the steps. “They’re just screwing with us. If they know you’re panicking, it’s going to make them worse.” He raised his voice. “Come on, Ed. Let us out. This is a serious dick move.”

Suddenly, the girl cried out with shock as something shoved her backward. Sam saw it was a shove by the way her body moved. Her arms pinwheeled and she screamed as she fell back.

“Hallie!”

Sam rushed forward, wanting to catch her, but his hands moved through her like smoke.

There was a thud and sick crack as she hit the floor, and Ty began to scream as he took in her still body and the unnatural angle of her head from her broken neck.

“No!” Sam shouted as Ty ran for the stairs, but before he was even two steps up, he was shoved back and he flew into the opposite wall. He hit hard and the breath rushed out of him in a rush.

“Please no!” Ty moaned. “I’ll go. I won’t come back. I swear. Don’t kill me.”

Sam thought Ty was feeling the same fear he was. There was something in that house, something menacing, and it was preparing to kill again.

Sam tried to step forward, to protect the boy with his own insubstantial body, but before he could take more than a few steps he felt the spike of pain in his head and he knew what was coming. He tried to cling to the vision, to lock himself there, but then he was blinking into Clark’s face and his head was splitting open with pain. 

“What the hell did you see?” Clark asked.

“I saw a girl get killed,” Sam said. “And I think the boy was next.” He got to his feet, his head swimming and pounding. “I’ve got to stop them.”

“Stop them what?” Clark asked. “You can barely stand. I think this is more of a job for your mom and brother than you.”

“There might not be time.”

Sam took a breath to clear his head that was partially successful and then reached for his phone from where it was charging beside the bed. He hit speed dial and held it to his ear with a shaking hand.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said brightly. “How is going?”

“Where are you? Are you close?”

“We’re about thirty minutes out of Lawrence,” Dean said. “What’s wrong? Hold on. I’m putting you on speaker.” The sounds of the Jeep grew louder and Dean said, “What’s up?”

“I had a vision,” Sam said, squeezing his eyes closed. “It was our old house. Some kids are going to break in and something will kill them. I didn’t see what it was. I think maybe a vengeful spirit, the way it worked, but it killed a girl and I think the boy was next.”

“We’re coming,” Mary said tersely, and the sound of the engine being pushed to its limit came through the speaker. “Stay away from that house, Sam. I don’t want you anywhere near it.”

“But they could be there now!” Sam said desperately. “They could be killed!”

“No, Sam,” Dean growled. “If you just had a vision, you’ve got to be wrecked. You can’t protect anyone like that. You’ve got to take care of yourself. Send Clark.”

Sam shot a look at Clark and saw he was watching him intently.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll tell him.”

“Good,” Dean said, his relief obvious. “We’re driving as fast as we can. We’ll take care of it.”

“I’ve got to go,” Sam said as his eyes squeezed closed with pain.

“Rest,” Dean instructed. “We’ll wake you up when it’s over.”

“I will,” Sam said. “I’ll see you soon.”

He ended the call and looked at Clark who had raised an eyebrow. “What are you telling me?” he asked.

“I need you to come with me,” Sam said. “There are kids that are going to get killed if we don’t go.”

Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed Dean’s jacket and rooted through the pockets for the Impala keys. He found them and staggered out of the door to the car. He unlocked the door and turned back to see Clark standing in the doorway, watching him with a look of amusement.

“Come on!” Sam said. “We have to go!” When Clark didn’t move, he added, “I can’t do this alone, Clark. I haven’t hunted in years. But these kids might die.”

“What makes you think it’s happening today?” Clark asked.

“I don’t know if it will,” Sam said. “But Mom and Dean are still thirty minutes out. If it is now, it means they’re not going to be in time. Please!”

Clark rolled his eyes as he came forward and snatched the keys out of Sam’s hand. “Fine. I’m coming, but I’m driving. You look like hell, and I’m not relying on you to not wrap us around a tree.”

Sam knew Dean would be pissed if he knew Clark had driven the Impala, but he knew he would be a danger behind the wheel with the way his head was swimming and pounding with pain. Going into a hunt like this was stupid, but those kids could be killed. He would get them out and then himself. He would leave the hunt itself to Mary and Dean. He would just make sure no one was killed.

He got into the passenger side and dug his fingers into his knees as he waited for Clark to slide in behind the wheel and start the engine.

“Sweet car,” Clark said, sounding impressed as the car rumbled to life.

He seemed completely unconcerned by what they were driving into and the danger those kids were in, but Sam held back his anger, grateful that Clark was coming at all.

“Where is this house?” Clark asked.

“Forty-five Parkway. You pass it on the way to Missouri’s.”

Clark reversed them out of their spot and drove recklessly fast into the traffic on the road. Dean would be furious if he saw the way Clark was driving his Baby, but Sam was glad. He was getting them there fast.

For the short ride over, he tried to think past the pain in his head and calm himself. He was scared for the kids and himself. He hadn’t done anything like this in years, and he was in so much pain his reflexes were going to be slowed. It was an insane idea to go in like this, but it was him or those kids. He knew which mattered more.

“There!” he said, sitting forward in his seat and pointing when the old house came into view.

Clark skidded to a halt and Sam threw open his door and fell out, panic gripping him when he saw the door was ajar.

“The weapons are under the false base of the trunk,” he said, running up the path. “I’ll get the kids out.”

Clark cursed and Sam heard the truck squeak as it was open.

He ran into the house and straight to the open door that would lead to the basement. Before he could reach it, it slammed shut.

It had started.

He had seconds before the girl was going to be at the top of the stairs, blocking him and about to fall, and he shouted, “Get back!” as he kicked the door beside the lock and it flew open.

Hallie was halfway up the stairs, frozen in fear, and Sam raced down to her and grabbed her shoulders, the pain in his head overpowered by his panic. “Get out of here,” he said. “Now!”

When the girl just stared at him in shock, he shook her shoulders hard and she came to life, flinching back from him and running up the stairs and out of the door.

“Keep going!” Clark said from the hall. “Get out and run.”

Sam turned his attention to the boy and snapped. “You! Run!”

The boy obeyed, skirting Sam and squeezing past Clark halfway up the stairs and running out of the door.

Clark came down the stairs, two shotguns in his hand. He handed one to Sam and said, “Do you feel it?”

Sam nodded. He knew exactly what he meant as the sensation of something wrong was pressing in on his chest and making it hard to breathe.

“What is it?” he asked.

“If I had to guess, I’d say a spirit of some kind,” Clark said. “Poltergeist. Two maybe. There are two spirits at least. Let’s get out of here. Your mom and brother can deal with it when they arrive.”

Sam nodded and started towards the stairs, and then stopped. There was something else he wanted. He turned back and walked to the open chest. He could see the photographs in the dim light of the boys dropped torch, the shape of his father’s face, and he reached for it.

“What the hell are you doing, Sam?” Clark asked. “You can come back—” He cut off with a grunt.

Sam spun around and saw Clark flying at the wall. There was a thud as he collided and a crack. Clark’s eyes closed and he crumpled to the floor unconscious.

Sam cursed and ran at him, but something hit his chest and shoved him back. His back protested as he hit the wall, but his head was spared the blow Clark’s had made. He fought against the pressure on him, searching for a sign of what had attacked, but there was nothing there. Nothing he could see at least.

There was the sound of metal being sheared apart and he saw a piece of the pipe that ran along the wall being torn away and flying towards him.

He sucked in a breath and prepared himself for the impact, but before it could do more than touch against his chest, right over his heart, he felt his head fill with pain and a force burst from him. Though his hands were pinned at his sides, he could also feel a grip on the cold pipe as if he had a third hand holding it away from him.

He realized it was his powers. This wasn’t like when he threw the pillow around; this was what Clark must feel with his finely tuned powers when he would move the pillow with precision.

At the same moment as the realization, he felt the pressure against his grip on the pipe increasing. Whatever spirit was haunting the house was fighting against him, trying to impale him with the pipe as he tried to stop it.

His head was bursting with pain and he felt warm wetness sliding from his nose and over his lip, but he disregarded it, focusing every ounce of attention he had on keeping the pipe from stabbing into his heart and killing him.

He hissed through gritted teeth from the effort and willed his mom and Dean to hurry or for Clark to wake up and save him.

Without them, it was a battle of wills, his against the spirit’s, and if he couldn’t keep his focus, if he slipped even a little, it was going to kill him.


	20. Chapter 20

** _Chapter Twenty_ **

Mary weaved them through the traffic, slamming her hand on the horn as a car pulled out in front of them and cursing loudly.

Dean was leaning forward in his seat, his face set with tension. “I knew this was a bad idea,” he said, not for the first time.

“I know,” Mary said, taking a hard turn and narrowly avoiding a collision with an SUV. “You said.”

Neither of them had wanted to leave at first, but Clark had been insistent. He said Sam was relying on Dean too much and he needed to learn to calm himself alone, to stand on his own two feet. He’d made it sound like the bonds between their family were a problem somehow. That had made Dean angry, and harsh words had been exchanged between him and Clark. Mary had worried it was going to come to blows. She had calmed Dean, though, and persuaded him that Clark was the expert. If he thought Sam needed to try it alone, without the choice of having Dean there, they had to trust him. She regretted that now.

“I swear, if someone dies because we weren’t there, I will _kill_ Clark,” Dean growled.

“No, you won’t,” Mary said sternly.

Dean snarled. “Sam will never forgive himself if those kids die after he saw it; it will destroy him. If Clark hadn’t made us take off for some bullshit reason, we’d have been there already. We could have saved the kids.”

“We still can,” Mary said soothingly, though she felt the same anger towards Clark. “What Sam saw might not even happen today. Maybe we can get in and clear the house before the kids even get in there.”

Dean’s eyes fixed on her face. “Do you really believe that?”

Mary took another hard left. “I have to. I have to believe that we’re going to be able to go back to Sam and tell him we stopped it.”

Dean nodded. “He’s going to be a wreck already. I’ve never seen hurting as much as he is after these visions. It’s like he’s being attacked by them.” 

“He is, in a way. But he’s fighting back. And Missouri said they’ll get easier as he learns control. She doesn’t feel any pain using her gift.”

“She’s not fighting them,” Dean pointed out.

Mary nodded and said, “Get ready,” as they pulled onto her old street. She saw the Impala parked outside the house and she groaned. “Sam…”

Dean cursed loudly. “He’s here!”

Mary skidded to a stop and threw the keys onto Dean’s lap as she threw herself out of the car. “Get the weapons.”

It was entirely possible that Sam had just come to the house to head off the kids that were supposed to come, that he was fine, but she didn’t believe it. She was scared. She understood why her son had come, but she wished he hadn’t.

She ran at the house, her heart pounding, and heard Dean behind her. He hadn’t had long enough to arm them, and she knew she should go back and get the guns at least, but the draw to her son was stronger. She needed to be sure he was okay.

The door that led to the basement was open, and Mary ran toward it and down the steps. Before she had barely gotten into the room, she sensed the menace within, and she called for Sam, her voice panicked.

There was no reply, but she could hear someone breathing harshly.

“Sammy!” Dean shouted from behind her.

Mary jumped the last two steps and took in the large space. Clark was crumpled in front of the north wall, unmoving, and Mary’s eyes slid past him quickly in search of her son.

“Sam,” she breathed as she saw him, and then the scene registered and she gasped. He was pressed against the wall, his hands at his sides. His face was white and there was blood on his lips and chin where it had dripped from his nose. The most outstanding part of the scene was the torn pipe that floating in midair in front of him. For one heart-stopping moment, she thought it was in him, that it was his own flesh that held it upright, but there was a tiny space between his shirt and the jagged edge of the pipe.

He didn’t seem to have registered their arrival, but when Dean ran around Mary where she stood frozen and reached for the pipe, Sam shouted, “No!” in a hoarse voice.

Mary rushed towards him and touched his hand, outstretched at his side. It was chilled. “We’ve got to get it away Sam,” she said. “Me and Dean are going to grab it and you move, understand?”

“No,” Sam said. “If you try, I’ll lose my grip on it. It’s so strong. It’s going to stab it right through me if I don’t stop it.”

“We’ve got to do something!” Dean said roughly.

“It’s a poltergeist,” Sam said, drawing a deep breath through his mouth. “Take it out and I’ll be okay.”

Dean gaped at Mary. “A poltergeist!”

They’d never tackled one before. Mary knew there was a spell to banish one, but she didn’t have all the ingredients. She wasn’t even sure if she could remember them all.

“We don’t know how, Sammy,” Dean said. “We’ve never done it before.”

Sam closed his eyes a moment and his face scrunched in pain. “Do something,” he said. “I can’t hold on much longer.”

“Clark,” Mary said. “Wake him up.”

Dean seemed torn between being close to his brother and helping him, and then he nodded and ran to where Clark lay. He bent down and slapped his face. “You! Wake up! Sam needs you!”

Clark jostled but didn’t stir, not even when Dean punched his shoulder hard enough for Mary to wince at the meaty thud.

“Mom!” Sam gasped.

Mary saw it at the same moment. The pipe was shaking hard and edging closer to Sam.

Sam gritted his teeth and then groaned as the pipe pressed against his chest and a spot of blood appeared on his shirt.

“Sammy!” Dean’s voice was panicked as he ran back to his brother’s side.

“I can’t do this,” Sam moaned.

“You can,” Dean said, his voice calm despite the panic in his eyes. “Just like before. You’ve got to breathe.”

Sam sucked in a deep breath and released it shakily. The pipe stilled, pressed against him, and a new streak of blood trickled from Sam’s nose.

“That’s it,” Dean said encouragingly. “You’ve got it.”

Sam nodded and then his eyes widened as the pipe dropped to the floor and Sam fell away from the wall. “It’s coming!”

Dean raced across the room and picked up the shotgun that had fallen beside Clark and then spun on his heel as there was a rushing sound and a fiery figure appeared in front of them.

Mary stood in front of Sam defensively and squared her stance. She had no idea what she could do to protect him, but Sam was pinned to a wall, helpless, and she was going to do whatever she could to shield him.

Dean brought up the shotgun and aimed it at the figure, his finger moving to the trigger and then freezing as Sam shouted, “No, Dean! Don’t!”

“Why not?” Dean growled.

“I can see him now,” Sam said, his voice breathy.

Dean raised the gun slightly and then dropped it to his side as the fire burgeoned and then faded to reveal the figure, the familiar face, the man.

Mary took an automatic step forward, her heart racing as she took in the man. “John?”

Her voice was a whisper but he heard it. 

John smiled, tears in his eyes and he looked at her. “Mary. My girl.”

“Dad?” Dean’s voice was weak, and he walked towards his father, his face awed and his eyes wet.

“Son,” John said, his eyes shining with love as he took Dean in. “Look at you…”

Dean smiled and a tear trickled down his cheek.

His eyes turned back to Mary and she moved closer, her hand reaching out for him and then dropping back to her side as he shook his head no.

“Sorry,” he said, his face creasing with regret.

“No,” Mary said, her breath hitching in her throat. “_I’m _sorry.”

John frowned and the words left Mary in a rush as the love and guilt swelled in her, making it hard to breathe. “I never meant for it to happen. It should have been me,” she said, the weight of her deal pressing down on her heart. 

John shook his head briskly. “No, Mary! Never! I would have died for you in a heartbeat, any of you.”

“But it was my fault,” Mary insisted, her voice cracking. “The debt was mine. I thought it was over.”

John’s brow creased into a frown, and for a moment she thought he was going to ask what she meant—in that moment of overwhelming emotion, she would have answered him honestly, consequences be damned—but he shook his head and looked past her towards their youngest son, his eyes wet with tears.

Mary stepped aside and watched as John approached Sam where he stood, leaning against the wall for support.

Sam was staring at John with wide eyes and the look on his face was one that Mary had never seen before. It was like a blind man seeing the sunlit sky for the first time. He was awed, drinking in the sight of his father.

“Sammy…” John said, awed. “You’re all grown.”

Sam smiled, “Dad.” The word was laced with love, the very first time Sam was ever able to address his father directly. Mary felt hot tears spilling down her cheeks.

John slowly moved his eyes from Sam to Dean again, and he beamed at him. “My little men are real men now.”

Dean nodded, his tears streaming down his cheeks. He looked like he wanted to say something, but before he could, there was a clatter as the pipe flew from the floor towards Dean’s face. It froze an inch from his right eye, and Sam groaned, his eyes fixed on his brother with desperate concentration.

“Sammy?” Dean whispered, frozen in place by fear or the poltergeist, Mary wasn’t sure which.

“I’ve got it,” Sam said, his voice strained, his back pressed to the wall again. “You’re going to be okay.”

Mary wanted to go to Dean, to help him, but she knew a wrong move could break Sam’s concentration and kill Dean.

John turned away from them and raised his face to the ceiling. “Get away from my family,” he commanded, his voice dangerous in a way Mary had never heard before. “Get out of my house. And let go of my sons!”

Mary gasped John’s name as flames covered him again and then roared up to the ceiling. They spread, just as they had the night he died, taking over, but this time they disappeared. The pipe clattered to the floor and Dean gasped and rushed toward his brother.

Sam fell away from the wall and pressed a hand to his forehead.

Dean grabbed him and pulled him into a hug, cradling the back of his head as Sam breathed shakily. Mary stared at them for a moment, feeling like an outsider, and then Dean looked over Sam’s shoulder and lifted an arm to her in invitation. Mary walked to them and threw her arms around her sons, feeling them move with their heaving breaths, and let herself absorb the relief

She had almost lost them both this night.

Thanks to Sam, Dean was alive, and thanks to John, they all were.

There was a groan from the side and Clark asked, “Okay, who hit me?”

No one answered.


	21. Chapter 21

**Thank you so much Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for beta’ing and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading. **

** **

** _Chapter Twenty-One_ **

Mary unlocked her room and they trailed in, Clark bringing up the rear, drawn by the promise of a beer.

Sam knew Mary had persuaded him to come with them as she wanted to keep an eye on him after his head injury. She had tried to persuade both him and Sam to go to the hospital to get checked out, but they’d refused.

Sam felt physically fine now that it was over, though he was exhausted. He thought the nosebleed that worried Mary so much had just been the strain of using his powers for an extended period of time against such a strong force. He was more worried about Clark’s head injury.

Well, that and what Mary had said, but he was trying to ignore that worry, not wanting to face what it might mean.

He put the box of things he’d brought out of the house down on the bed and then went into the bathroom to wash away the blood from his face that he hadn’t gotten off with the towelettes in the Impala. His complexion wasn’t reassuring, he was pale and his eyes ringed with dark shadows. He could see why Mary was stressed, but a hospital was the last thing he wanted. What could he even tell them to explain their concerns? He had no external injuries to excuse the nosebleed and headache he’d suffered. He’d be told to take it easy for a few days and watch out for more nosebleeds. He was too tired to care about reassuring his family to go.

He washed his face and dried it on the scratchy motel towel then went back into the room. Clark was sitting on the couch, a bottle of beer in his hand and a look of awkwardness on his face.

Sam understood the feeling. The air was tense with unspoken words. Sam wondered if Dean was also trying not to think about what Mary had said to John, or if he was still consumed with what they had undergone and seen—their father.

It had been incredible to Sam. He now had actual memories of his father’s face and voice that were his. He had finally heard the warmth in his father’s voice, had seen the sparkle in his eye and knew what his frown looked like. It was a gift that had been over too soon.

“Let’s look at your chest, Sam,” Mary said.

“It’s fine,” Sam huffed tiredly.

“Then you won’t mind showing us,” Dean said, a slight smile curling his lips.

Sam unbuttoned his shirt and looked down at the small wound on his chest as Mary took the first aid kit from her bag and gestured for him to sit on the bed. There was crusted blood around the cut that made it look worse than it was, but it was shallow and Sam knew it was just going to sting to shower for a few days. He’d been incredibly lucky. If his power hadn’t presented at that exact moment, he would be dead. He owed Clark his life—and his brother’s—for training him.

It had been hard to keep the pipe away from himself, but surprisingly easy to do it to save Dean. His need to protect his brother had overpowered everything else. He had been terrified he would slip and Dean would be killed, and that fear had given him strength. He thought if he tried now, he would be able to do anything with telekinesis.

“It’s not so bad,” Mary said, peering at his chest.

Sam knew she was speaking to Dean more than him, as he had an occluded view from his place at the table, and he heard Dean sigh with relief.

Mary cleaned around the wound with antiseptic that stung and then covered it with a small, white dressing.

“There,” she said, patting his shoulder. “Good as new.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Sam said automatically, buttoning his shirt.

She smiled and him and kissed his cheek. “I love you.”

Sam smiled back, pushing aside the questions that sprung to his mind at her words. He knew he was going to need to ask them, even if only so he could ever sleep again, but he wasn’t ready. In that moment, they were all okay, relieved at their survival and still feeling the aftershocks of the trauma and joy of seeing John. He didn’t want to bring pain into that.

“Is it over, Clark?” he asked.

All eyes fixed on Clark and he took a moment to answer. “It’s over. The poltergeist is gone, as is the other spirit that was there.” He narrowed his eyes at Sam. “You already know that part though, don’t you? Who was it?”

“It was our dad,” Dean said quietly. “He was a ghost. He came and somehow made the poltergeist go.”

Clark nodded and took a swig of his beer. For once, there was no antagonism in him as he interacted with Dean. He was restrained, kind. Sam was grateful for it. Dean was already dealing with too much. He didn’t need more dumped on top. 

“Why didn’t we hear about attacks at the house?” Sam asked. “There had to have been more than those two kids.”

“Maybe not,” Clark said. “Your father’s spirit could have been protecting people all that time.”

Mary wiped at her eyes and she nodded. “That sounds like John.”

“Why didn’t we know Dad was a ghost though, Mom?” Dean asked. “We should have realized. We spent all these years hunting things and he was there alone.”

Sam thought the question was pulled from him without his own volition, because he would never usually open such a personal topic with Clark there listening.

Mary sighed and sank down on the chair opposite him. “I never imagined he could be,” she said. “There was nothing to tether him, no body. He was attached to something else. The house maybe.”

“I imagine it was something in the house,” Clark said quietly. “When he canceled out the poltergeist, he broke the tether. He would have moved on.”

“To Heaven?” Sam asked hopefully.

There was expectant silence as Clark considered his answer, and when it came, it was carefully worded. “Spirits have to go somewhere. I don’t know if that’s heaven or not, but it’s somewhere. He’s not canceled out entirely. He is somewhere.”

“It’s Heaven,” Mary said confidently. “No one deserves it more than your father.”

Dean looked reassured, and he smiled for a moment before his expression became curious. “What did you bring out, Sammy?”

Sam pulled the box toward him and opened it. Mary gasped and lifted out the race track box with an awed look on her face. “I thought this had burned! Dean, it was your Christmas present that year. Your father hid it and I never knew where.” She held it out and Dean took it.

“I remember this,” he said in an awed voice. “I got one for my birthday.”

Mary nodded, beaming at him. “You and your dad would play with it for hours. This is new track so you could make it even bigger. I think John wanted it for himself as much as he wanted you to have it.”

Dean ran his hand over the surface of the box and blinked quickly. “Wow.”

“There’s photos, too,” Sam said, lifting them out and handing them to Mary. She stifled a sob and wiped at her eyes. “I thought we had all the ones that survived. Look, Sam, this is the day you came home from the hospital.”

Sam took the photograph and saw Dean sitting on a brown armchair with a bundle of blankets on his lap. A baby was vaguely discernable, its head resting in the crook of Dean’s elbow, but that didn’t hold his attention. It was Dean that entranced him. He was so happy. His young face was creased into a wide smile and his eyes were lit with pride.

He handed it to Dean who smiled down at it. “I remember that, too. Dad told me I was the big brother and it was a special job.” He grinned at Sam. “I was really excited until you showed what a noisy pain in the ass you could be.”

Sam forced a smile for him.

Mary took the tiny softball shirt out of the box and gasped. “Sam! Your father brought this for you himself!” She stroked the front, her eyes wet.

Sam took it from her and gasped as the outline blurred and he felt the prickle on his arm.

“Go ahead, Sam,” Clark said.

Sam frowned at him. “How do you know?”

Clark smiled. “You can’t miss an aura that bright. You can do it. You don’t need help.”

Sam considered a moment before taking a deep breath and allowing himself to sink into the vision. Clark was right; he didn’t need help. It was so close and real that it was as if it was reaching for him, too.

He was standing in a blue painted nursery with a wooden cot and changing station against the walls and white rug on the floor. In the cot was a baby gurgling and standing over it was his father.

“Don’t tell your mom I showed you, Sammy, but look what your daddy got you for Christmas.”

He held the outfit over the cot, and the baby kicked its legs and blew a spit bubble.

“Knew you’d like it,” John said with a smile. “Won’t be long and we can get that mitt on you.”

His eyes moved to a shelf where Sam spotted a tiny catcher’s mitt sitting beside a porcelain angel.

Sam’s lips curled into a blissful smile as he took in the scene. This was a gift he’d never imagined, even more than seeing his father in his old house. This was a slice of his life as it had been before the demon came. He was seeing his father with his younger self, and there was no mistaking the love in John’s eyes as he looked down at him.

There was movement at the door and John quickly turned, stuffing the shirt behind him.

Mary came in and raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

John’s expression formed into one of innocence. “Just talking to my boy.”

Mary pulled his arm from behind his back and she scowled as she saw the bundle of fabric in his hand. “John,” she sighed. “It’s a Christmas present. He’s not supposed to see it till _Christmas._”

John grinned. “Don’t be mad. I just wanted him to get a taste of what’s to come. I think he understands me. He’s smart.”

Mary smiled fondly. “Of course he is. He takes after his father. Which makes it worse. You’re spoiling the surprise.”

John’s frown became a smile. “Then let’s put him in it now. It’s his birthday after all.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “I already told you, you don’t celebrate six-month birthdays. It’s only a little longer to wait. Besides, you’re out of time. You’re due at the garage in five minutes.”

John sighed. “Back to the grindstone, Sammy. Your mom is a hard taskmaster.”

Mary patted his cheek. “Yeah, I’m cruel.”

John kissed her and said, “I’m going, I’m going. I’ll be home before Dean goes to bed.”

“You’d better,” she said. “He’s hard to settle unless he’s said goodnight to you.”

John kissed her again, tickled the baby’s stomach, making him gurgle, and then headed out of the room.

Mary came to stand over the cot and said, “Your daddy’s hopeless, Sammy. But that’s why we love him, right?”

She reached in and lifted Sam out and into her arms, saying, “Let’s go wake your brother.” She carried Sam’s young self out of the room, and then he as an adult pulled himself out of the memory with a gasp.

He felt all eyes on him and he quickly wiped at the tears on his face. He had just experienced the most amazing thing, and it was breaking his heart because he knew now he had to ask the question that scared him. Before the end of the same day he’d just witnessed, the demon would come into his nursery and his father would be killed.

He had to know how that had happened.

“What did you see, Sammy?” Dean asked curiously, his smile expectant.

Sam shook his head and turned to Clark who was watching him cautiously. “Can you give us a minute, Clark?” he said. “I need to talk to my mom.”

Clark got up without a word and walked to the door. He opened it and then turned back and looked at Mary. His expression solemn, he said, “It’s time, Mary,” and then left, letting the door swing closed behind him. 

Sam looked at his mother, seeing past her worried face and concentrated on the glow that surrounded her. It was muddy pink still, a little darker, and he knew that it wasn’t immaturity now.

“Sit down, Mom,” he said firmly.

“What’s going on, Sam?” Dean asked as Mary took the seat across from him.

Sam didn’t answer. Instead, he fixed his eyes on his mother and said, “I have to know, _we_ have to know, what you meant when you were talking to Dad. You said it was your fault, your debt. Why?”

Mary seemed to crumple. Her shoulders sagged and her back bowed. Her face creased into lines of sadness, and as she wiped a hand over her forehead, Sam saw it was shaking.

“Mom?” Dean said, concern etched into his brow. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t…” Mary said weakly. “I…”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Dean said quickly. “Does she, Sam?”

Sam didn’t answer. He waited until Mary looked at him and he nodded to her.

“I will tell you, but I need you to stay and listen to it all. Please, let me finish before you say anything,” she begged. “I need you to understand. And whatever you think or feel, remember I love you both more than anything in the world. And I loved your father. I never would have let him be hurt if I’d known.”

Sam’s heart began to hammer against his ribs, and he wanted to stop her before she said anything else, before something between them could break, but he forced himself not to retract his question. “I’ll listen.”

Dean reached across the table and cupped Mary’s hand between his own and said, “It’s okay, Mom. Whatever’s happened, we’ll understand.”

Mary smiled sadly and then fixed her attention on her hand where it was held between Dean’s and said, “I’ve been hiding something from you. I never told another soul what I did, not even Bobby. I have kept this secret for thirty-two years because I was scared and then ashamed.” She closed her eyes and a tear slid down her cheek. “Exactly ten years before you were born, Sam, I made a deal with a demon.”

Dean’s hands withdrew to his lap and he stared at his mother, stricken.

Sam felt numb. The words should shock him to his core, his mother had made a _deal_, but he felt nothing. It was the way he’d felt after he woke in the hospital. He knew how he should feel, but there was nothing there. His neutral expression didn’t even flicker.

“The deal was for your father’s life. It was the yellow-eyed demon. He’d possessed my father and killed John, snapped his neck, and he’d already killed my mom. I was alone. I was scared. I didn’t know what to do. The Demon told me he would bring John back if I made a deal. He didn’t want my soul. He wanted permission, that’s all. He told me if I let him come into my house in ten years and didn’t interrupt, no one would be hurt.” She stifled a sob. “I thought I had to do it. I could see my whole life ahead of me, my family gone, John dead, and I couldn’t bear it. I made the deal.”

“But Dad interrupted,” Dean said in a dead voice.

“Yes,” she sobbed, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. “When ten years passed and Sam was born safe, I thought it would be okay. Weeks went by, and then months, and I believed it had come and gone, done what it wanted and left without being interrupted. I thought we were safe. But then I heard your father that night, and I _knew_ it was there. I had killed him with my deal.”

Dean turned away from her, his eyes filled with tears and his hands shaking on his lap.

“Do you know what it did to me?” Sam asked tonelessly.

“To you?” Dean asked with concern.

Sam nodded. “It did something to me. Clark says there’s something in me that is blocking my powers. It’s in my blood. The demon did something to me.”

“No!” Mary said, stricken. “It can’t have. It’s just grief. It didn’t do anything to you.”

Sam shrugged. “It came for something. I am different. It had to have been the demon.”

“Sammy…” Dean said, getting to his feet and putting a hand on his shoulder. Sam dodged away from the touch and Dean’s eyes widened. “Sammy?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sam said getting to his feet and making for the door.

Dean rounded on Mary, fury on his features. “Look at him!” he growled. “Look what you’ve done!”

“I’m sorry,” Mary sobbed.

“Are you?” Sam asked mildly. “I can’t tell.”

“I am,” Mary said through her tears. “I loved your father so much, and I would have died for him if I could. Without that deal I would have lost him ten years earlier. I would never have had you and Dean. I shouldn’t have hidden it from you, I know that now, but I made the deal for a reason. It gave me ten extra years with John, and it gave me the sons I love. For your life, for both of your lives, it was worth it.”

“And Sammy?” Dean asked. “Is it worth what happened to him, what that demon did? Is it worth the pain he’s in now?”

“I’m not in pain,” Sam said dully. “I’m not anything.”

Dean’s face paled. “You don’t feel again?”

Sam shrugged. “No.”

Dean rounded on his mother and his hands fisted. “Look at him! Look what your lies did. Why did you have to tell us? We didn’t need to know.”

“I couldn’t lie anymore,” she cried. 

“Why not?” Sam asked with no emotion in his voice. “You’ve lied to us all our lives. Why does it matter now?”

Mary covered her face and sobbed into her hands.

Dean grabbed Sam’s arm and towed him out of the room. “Come on, Sammy,” he growled. “Let’s get out of here.”

Sam allowed himself to be led out and into their room where he sat down on the edge of the bed and watched as Dean paced up and down, his hand clenching and relaxing as he breathed hard through his nose.

“The hell with this!” he snapped eventually. “Let’s get out of here. There’s a bar around the corner.”

“I don’t want to drink,” Sam said. “You go.”

“I’m not leaving you here alone!”

“You should,” Sam said calmly. “I want you to.”

He didn’t truly care if Dean was there or not, but he knew Dean needed to get away, to drink and think in peace.

Dean stared at him for a moment and then said, “Okay, Sammy, I’ll take my phone. If you want me for anything, anything at all, call.”

“I will.”

Dean hesitated a moment before pulling open the door and striding out of it. Sam watched it close behind him and he sighed. In a way, it was a relief to feel nothing, as he thought feeling these things the way Dean was would be too painful to handle, but he also knew it was wrong to be like this again. That should matter to him. What if it affected his powers? He needed to train them if nothing else. That felt like it mattered, like it was the only thing that mattered.

He drew a breath and fixed his eyes on a book on the table. He reached out his mind and lifted it. It was harder than it had been to hold back the pipe because of his exhaustion, but he could do it. It hurt less that it had before, too.

He relaxed his grip and the book dropped back to the table. He just stared at it for a moment, noting the aura around it, and then nodded to himself. He still had telekinetic abilities, and from the tingle in his arm, he thought he had visions, too. 

With a sigh, he closed his eyes and let himself sink into it. It was easier than ever before. Apparently, it was easy to be calm when you felt nothing.

He was in the cemetery again, looking at the graves spread out in front of him. He was close to the entrance, and in front of him were two figures leaning against each other as they walked across the grass. It was Elizabeth and Michael, and in Elizabeth’s hand was a small bouquet of flowers.

Sam followed them to the grave and watched as Elizabeth lifted a wilted bouquet and replaced it with fresh. They weren’t speaking, but Michael was rubbing her back comfortingly, and Sam thought they didn’t need words anymore.

He looked around the other graves, wondering if there was going to be danger in this one that he hadn’t seen before. He knew that he should be worried, but he didn’t feel it. He was still numb.

He saw a shape beside a tree in the distance, and he squinted at it, trying to make it out. The sun was too bright though, and as he lifted his hand to shield his eyes, the figure came into focus.

He started jogging forward without thought, drawn to the person he’d seen. As he grew closer, he realized she was wearing the same clothes from his dream, and her hair was spread around her face the exact same way.

“Jessica?” he gasped, a flood of emotion rushing through him so intense it made him heady.

She stared straight through him, tears on her cheeks, and Sam looked back to see what she was looking at. It was her parents, her mother in her father’s arms and his face buried in her hair.

Sam turned back to Jessica and reached for her, wanting to comfort as the waves of love and sadness swept through him, but before he could make contact, there was a loud thud and laughter, and he was blinking back to awareness in his and Dean’s room, hearing the sounds of the people in the next room. His head was pounding, but it didn’t seem to matter. 

The numbness that had protected him from his mother’s confession was gone, but he didn’t feel anger toward her. He felt nothing toward her at all in that moment. He was consumed with Jessica.

He had _seen_ her. She had been there, watching her parents. She was dead, he knew, he’d seen her burn and then watched her body being buried in the ground, but she had been there, watching her parents mourn.

She couldn’t be alive, that was impossible, but could she still be there? He had no idea how his visions really worked, what else he was capable of seeing, but after an encounter with one ghost of someone he loved that night, he thought there was a possibility of another.

Was it possible she was there, waiting for him, that she had been waiting for weeks for him to come?

He had to know.

He got to his feet and grabbed his duffel from under the bed and began to stuff his clothes into it. He went into the bathroom to grab his wash kit and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. His cheeks were flushed with color and his eyes bright. He had not seen himself looking like this for weeks, not since the day Jessica died.

This was how he looked with hope.

**So… The secret is out at last and Sam has something new to cling to.**

**This is where this part of the story ends, but there is more to come in _Another Last Goodbye_ which will follow soon. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


End file.
